Viridian Flame
by daymarket
Summary: Set after Eldest/Sequel to T&M. After Murtagh's failure at the Burning Plains, Galbatorix is less than happy with him. With the appearance of the third Rider and the Varden, Murtagh's loyalty is conflicted in more ways than one. Picked up after hiatus.
1. Upon Awakening

_9/14/101_

He couldn't breathe, couldn't run, couldn't escape. The fires blazed all around him, and pain streaked his spine—he was bleeding, he knew, but he didn't know how badly or how much.

"Murtagh!"

He turned, gasping with the effort. A young woman stood a few yards away from him, her face wavering before his. He blinked, struggling to identify her—who was she? She seemed familiar, but he just couldn't place her name…

"Murtagh, you've got to focus," she said, her dark eyes fixed tightly on his. "Fight it! It's not that far. They're coming at you, but you've just got to get yourself together and—"

"I can't!" he cried, his voice cracking with pain. His legs buckled underneath him, and he dropped, the fire blazing through his side. "You—"

His vision was flickering, swamped with darkness. Faintly, as if from far away, he heard footsteps as his name was screamed again—_"Murtagh!"_

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Murtagh awoke.

For a moment he lay there, staring at the ceiling above. His mind raced, a complete blank—who was she? What day was it? What had happened?

_Murtagh_?

Murtagh flinched at the sound of the voice and immediately wished he hadn't as a sharp sting rippled through his back. Slowly, with shaking fingers, he reached backwards, brushing his back lightly. Holding them up in the dim light, he saw that they were streaked with blood.

_Murtagh?_ the voice again, more worried and insistent. _Are you okay?_

Murtagh inhaled slowly, wincing as his ribs protested. He probed them carefully, fingers questing—at least two were broken, maybe more. _I don't know—I—Thorn?_

_Yes,_ his dragon said, a note of anxiety in his voice. _I've been trying to contact you for the past couple days, I've only just gotten through—what happened? What did Galbatorix do to you?_

_I'm not sure,_ Murtagh said slowly, discovering to his shock that this actually was true. His memory was patchy, and the increasing clamor in his head only made it worse. He gritted his teeth, trying to think. _I—what day is it, Thorn?_

_Three days after our return from the Burning Plains,_ Thorn said carefully. _Do you remember what happened?_

Murtagh shrugged instinctively and winced. _Vaguely. Not really. _

_Oh_. Thorn was quiet for a moment. _Well, Galbatorix was really pissed off, and he pulled you off me and dragged you away and I felt that same barrier drop between our thoughts again and I couldn't contact you until a moment ago when I think I broke into your dream, maybe? Who knows? I yelled your name a couple times, and here we are. I'm not much more enlightened on the subject that you are. Where are you, anyway?_

The question gave him pause. Slowly, Murtagh sat up, taking care of his ribs as he looked around the chamber. It was dark, with a thick scent of blood and dung and damp in the air. Water dripped slowly from the ceiling, and the door was barred, with ominous-looking locks on it. A pile of rusting chains was heaped in a corner.

_I think I'm in a dungeon,_ Murtagh said after a long moment. _Lower level, maybe…there's no window here._ _I…three days, you said?_

_Yes_. Murtagh could sense Thorn pacing, his tail flicking in agitation. _It's morning. Couple hours away from noon. _

_Morning…_Murtagh said wonderingly. If it was day outside, his prison showed no sign of it. _I see_.

_Don't we all. _

_Is—_Murtagh paused, unsure of whether he wanted to hear the answer or not. He exhaled slowly, gathering his nerve. _Where's Galbatorix?_

_Not sure…_Thorn moved, flitting from window to window, his vision halfway imposed on Murtagh's. Murtagh swayed, feeling slightly disoriented by the merged images. _Not in his chambers. Not in the atrium. Not in the courtyard, not in the loo, not in your bedroom…not in the stables, not in the treasury, not in any of the ministers' offices…_

_Is he coming down here?_

_Can't be sure. Unh…give me a moment here. Wait—got him! He's on the ground floor, talking to some soldier or the other. He's moving. He's moving! He's picked up three soldiers behind him…wait, no. He's heading upstairs. Never mind_.

A wave of relief swamped Murtagh. He sagged, leaning against the wall. _Thank the gods for small blessings_.

Thorn snorted. _Blessings? What blessing?_

Murtagh shrugged (and winced yet again as his back protested), huddling for warmth. It was cold in the dungeon, and somewhere during the three days his breeches had been torn into tatters, and his shirt had vanished altogether. He rubbed his temples gingerly, trying to remember what had happened. _Well,_ he said slowly, _at least we're alive?_

_Some blessing,_ Thorn said disgustedly.

_Did Galbatorix do anything to you?_ Murtagh asked, trying to gather his thoughts.

_No. _The red dragon sounded relieved and annoyed all at once. _Just glared at me and stomped away with you in hand. What, you mean you really can't remember?_

_Not…really._ Murtagh shuddered, rubbing his hands on his arms. _And at this rate, I think I really don't want to remember. Is Galbatorix still upstairs?_

_Yep,_ Thorn said, sounding glum. _He's still talking to one of the soldiers he's picked up. Which reminds me, I thought he threw the whole army at the Varden on the Burning Plains? They couldn't have trekked back in just three days, so what're these soldiers doing here?_

_A rear guard, the reserve, Galbatorix's personal bodyguards…_Murtagh said distractedly. _There could be any number of reasons. _He paused, blinking slowly in the darkness. _And…any news about…Eragon? And Saphira?_

_No._

Murtagh sighed, memory sifting erratically back into his head. He'd let Eragon go; that much at least he remembered. And then after that—after he got back—

He grimaced, shoving the memories away. The sounds in his head were building, like an irritating swarm of gnats. Fumbling, he closed his eyes, reaching for the practiced control he had built up over the months in captivity.

_Breathe,_ he thought carefully, letting himself relax. _Don't let it get out of control, or else it'll drive you mad—_

_Murtagh! He's coming!_

The sound of Thorn's voice, sharp and panicky, shattered any semblance of emotional restraint Murtagh had managed to gather. There could only be one _he _that Thorn could be referring to, the very _he_ Murtagh was dreading.The voices flared up full force as adrenaline flooded his veins, and Murtagh forced himself to his feet. _Where is he, Thorn?_ he demanded sharply, his eyes flicking to the ironbound door.

_In the turret, heading down. He's out of sight now, but I'll wager you a sizzled rat for dinner he's heading for you. _

_Thanks for the warning,_ Murtagh said, edging into the corner nearest the door. Inside his head, the voices screamed as the door swung open.

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Thorn flared his wings sharply, watching the point where Galbatorix had vanished below. _Murtagh?_ he asked anxiously. _Has he reached—_

He heard a cry streak through the mental connection, and then Thorn yelped as shared pain flooded his ribs. Gritting his very large, very sharp teeth, Thorn descended carefully in one of the royal gardens. _I'll pull your mind into mine,_ he urged his Rider. _We'll share the pain, come on, damn you—_

The connection between them quivered, snapping harshly as Galbatorix's icy mental barrier slammed between them once more. Thorn hissed with fury, accidentally setting a row of prized rosebushes on fire.

_Oh, for the love of—_he snapped, looking around for a source of water. He could hear screams echoing indistinctly in the distance as frantic gardeners rushed forth.

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_End of Chapter One_

a/n: Yay! After so many weeks of NOTHING, I've finally managed to write something _Eragon­-_related. –grins- I'm so happy.

**Update: October 12, 2008**

**Yep, so this was written before Brisingr came out, whoo! And obviously it is AU. It's a sequel of sorts to Thorn and Misery, which was a Murtagh-centric fic (like this one) that that I wrote. Basically follows him as he trudges (grudgingly) through the whole of Eldest, having all sorts of weird adventures and stuffness. Yeah. The voices here are from my own personal theory of the origin of the power that Galby & Murtagh have--they draw it from the Vault of Souls, from the dead, but it requires--yeah, uh huh. Read the prequel! -waves flag- Anyway, it's interesting, writing his character with that happy bundle of insanity in his head. If you have NO idea what I'm babbling on about, read T&M's chap 36-39.**

**And yes, lots of other canon characters will pop up too. Just to join in the fun. Huzzah! -runs in circles-**

**Kayers, end of bold. Yup. -poofs-**

Here's a disclaimer that will apply to the whole of this fic: Don't own _Eragon_, or _Eldest_, or Murtagh. Or Thorn, much as I wish I did. –huggles dragon and sobs- So don't sue!

Cya! Please review!


	2. Orders and Oaths

**Aww, so many reviews for the first chappie! –huggles- You guys are all SO cool. Here, have some muffins. **

**So yes, I will still be doing reviewer responses. Cuz you're awesome. YEAH!**

**Lady Hikari-Yami:** As I have not yet developed an all-powerful Plot (then again, I never have), I have no frickin' idea where this is going to go. But I'll figure it out. Eventually. The near future promises to be quite…interesting, anyways.

**Alsdssg**: Heh heh heh. Actually, I'd been toying with the idea of a sequel (or epilogue) for a VERY long time. Only I couldn't write anything, which sucked major eggs. I did manage to get half of an epilogue completed, but believe me, it's _terrible_. I wince to read it. –shivers-

**Namariegreenleef:** I've been really irresponsible about updating my other fics, but _Eragon_ stuff is definitely my priority. I update every week or so :)

**LadyAlina**: -snickers- Yeah, I wanted to nickname Eragon Idiotslayer, but since a character in another ff has already laid claim to that name, I figure I can't go around stealing such a lovely nickname, no? O.o

**Fredsonetrueluv:** Ooh, are you a Nasuada/Murtagh fan? I know a lot of people who favor that particular pairing. Me, meh, I guess it's all right, but it's _so_ inconvenient for ff writers who are suckers for romance. X.x

**Coffee Grounds**: BLOOD! GORE! **BONZAI!**

-starts slavering at the mouth- Angst and tragedy are always PWNSOME categories to write about. Especially when they're about Murtagh, cuz I'm like half in love with him. Which is weird, because he's not even real. Pity.

**Dreamgirlhoo:** XD Yep, I'm glad you liked T&M (having poured almost a whole year of effort into it…-mumbles intelligibly-). I'm kind of scouting for ideas for this fic, really—I mean, after Dras Leona and the Ra'zac, I'm gonna need _something_ to kick this fic along. Any ideas?

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_9/14/101_

His vision exploded in an array of multicolored dots as Galbatorix's boot lashed out, catching him squarely in the ribs. Murtagh dry-heaved, choking back nausea as he clutched his ribs. _Right on the broken bones,_ he thought, trying to breathe normally as bile rose in his his throat.

A hand shoved hard on his shoulder, forcing him down onto the ground. Galbatorix loomed over him, his face twisted into an expression of cold annoyance. Murtagh stared wildly up at him, the pain in his ribs forgotten as Galbatorix reached down, grabbing his hair. Gasping, Murtagh struggled to stand as Galbatorix twined his fingers into his dark hair and pulled him viciously upwards, slamming him into the wall.

"So."

They were face-to-face now, barely an inch apart. Galbatorix's expression was cold, his mouth twisted with disgust. Murtagh took a shaky breath and dropped his gaze to the floor, not daring to meet the emperor's hostile stare.

And then Galbatorix stepped away, dropping him in a manner that indicated he thought Murtagh was beneath his notice. Murtagh remained unsteadily standing, his hands braced on the wall for support. A trickle of warmth flowing down his legs told him that the whip marks on his back had opened, bleeding into what remained of his breeches. He kept his gaze fixed onto the floor.

"I would punish you further, but unfortunately something rather urgent has come up." Galbatorix's voice was idle; he might have been talking about the weather. "I've received some interesting information from one of my spies about Eragon…your little _brother—_" he spat the word with sudden vehemence— "is apparently intending to go storm Dras Leona tomorrow and kill all my Ra'zac."

He stopped. Turning around to face Murtagh, he said very quietly, "I find this very irritating, Murtagh."

Murtagh swallowed. Gathering up his nerve, he said in a shaky voice, "And yet you'll send me out? To confront Eragon? Even knowing—what I did? What I'll—I'll do?"

Galbatorix laughed mirthlessly. "Jumping to conclusions. As always. Yes, you pathetic excuse for a Rider, I shall send you out. A second chance, like. But not without precautions." Without warning, his hand shot forward, grasping Murtagh firmly under the chin. Leaning close, Galbatorix whispered, "If you mess this one up…"

The unspoken threat lay in the air. Murtagh said nothing, not trusting himself to speak.

Unexpectedly, Galbatorix laughed. "Or maybe, you're too stupid to learn," he said, shaking his head, smiling. "Like a dog. Old dogs can't learn new tricks, have you ever heard that saying? Or else, new dogs are just too silly to learn old tricks." He shrugged. "Either way, it all amounts to the fact that sometimes, you need to beat a dog to get its attention." Smirking, his gaze traveled over Murtagh. "And of course, leash it."

He closed his eyes. Murtagh tensed, sensing the feel of magic lacing the air as Galbatorix thought. Fighting back a scream, he dropped to his knees as Galbatorix took his true name and _twisted_, sending black fire blazing along its edges. The backlash traveled, throwing itself into Murtagh's skin, sending his world up into flames.

_Swear it!_ Galbatorix ordered savagely, a manic tone to his voice as he spoke in the ancient language. _The next time you see Eragon and Saphira, you are to capture them—together if possible, separately if you encounter only one. If there is only Eragon, take him captive and bring him here. If you find Saphira alone, you are to contact Thorn so you can capture her together. You are to _do _it—not to _try_, but to do it. Do you understand me, whelp? If you mess up this time, I will destroy you, I will leave you nothing but a shattered shell—_

Galbatorix held the vise of the magic for a second longer before releasing his grip. Murtagh crumpled to the ground, his body aching with the magic. He lay there, concentrating on breathing, forcing air into his battered lungs. He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes.

"Don't just lie there," Galbatorix said softly, a hint of a sneer in his voice. "Call your dragon, idiot. Tell him to meet me by the gate as soon as possible."

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Thorn backed away from the rosebushes, looking around to see if anybody was going to put them out. Several gardeners stood at the very edge of the garden, their mouths open in 'o's of surprise and fear. Some people were screaming, too, and a few guards were waving the business end of swords around. Thorn grimaced.

_Well, what are you waiting for?_ he called out to them. _You want to put it out?_

There was a sudden flurry of movement, but no one seemed to actually get _closer _to the fire. Thorn rolled his eyes and let out a puff of smoke in exasperation—the movement sending everybody scurrying back a step—before taking to the sky. _Fine, I'm gone!_ he snapped downwards.

He didn't stay around to watch the fire being extinguished. With a sudden violence built of annoyance, he swept upwards, catching a thermal and staying up in the clouds where nobody and nothing would gawp and gape like an idiot. Where it didn't matter that much that he couldn't find Murtagh, and certainly didn't matter that he would almost never find anybody who wouldn't stare like that.

He pulled up, straining as the air got cooler and the thermals weaker. The exercise burned off some of his growing frustration, bringing him to some mockery of calm when he finally leveled off at some horrendously high altitude. Hissing in a very draconite way, he hovered, flapping wearily.

_Thorn?_

Thorn started, catching himself just in time. _Murtagh!_ he said, unable to conceal his relief. _I thought you were—what did Galbatorix do?_

_Nothing,_ Murtagh said, sounding tired. There was a pause as the connection reformed, and then Murtagh said, _What're you doing that high up, anyway?_

…_it's a long story,_ Thorn said moodily.

_Right._ The Rider sighed. _Land by the gate, Thorn. Galbatorix wants to…see you._

Thorn swallowed. _Now?_

_Yes, now._ Murtagh paused. _I hope you didn't do anything you weren't supposed to_.

_Ah. Hah._ Thorn laughed weakly, angling into the position for a dive. _Besides accidentally setting fire to a couple of…um…shrubs? No?_

Murtagh groaned. _Oh. Thorn…_

_I'll take care of it, _Thorn said quickly, steeling himself. _You go rest up._

_No time for it,_ Murtagh murmured.

_Why not?_

_Because…well, we're going to Dras Leona later. Don't ask me about it,_ Murtagh said, interrupting Thorn's half-formed question. _Ask Galbatorix. Not…now._

Murtagh sounded tired, and Thorn could begin to feel the first ripples of shared pain begin to touch his side and back. The dragon bit back his questions, nodding. _You go on, then._

There was a weary affirmation from Murtagh, and the Rider turned his attention away. Thorn grimaced, tucked back his wings, and dived.

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**Dull? Quite. But it shall get better once I get some action going (e.g. Dras-Leona/Helgrind chapter, which is next). Next chapter will also be longer…**

**Review, thou dastardly chicken nuggets! Or face ze wrath of minest schpork! –cackle-**


	3. Helgrind

**Review Reponses!**

**Carline: **Lily-livered? _EXCUSE ME? WE BIG MACS DOMINATE THE WORLD! _**BOW BEFORE OUR AWESOME BIG-MACNESS! BWAHAHAA!**

SPLEE! Yes, Murtagh is AWESOME! And he's MINE! –shifty eyes- Mine mine mine mine mine! -curls up in a corner and sucks thumb-

**Namariegreenleaf:** UPDATES ARE YAYNESS! LIFE IS YAYNESS! And of course…REVIEWS ARE YAYNESS!

Yep, that's what sugar does to you. XD

**Alsdssg**: Whether Murtagh succeeds or not is somewhat due to my mood next week. . I have no plot (as usual), so if I feel really grumpy Eragon will probably go free. Who knows? Of course, suggestions are welcome :)

**Mattoodude911: **Yeah, it was a really short chapter too. But what can I say? Some days the inspiration comes. Others…it doesn't. –sigh-

Murtagh doesn't exactly _join_ Galby, does he? Not of his own free will! He doesn't! He doesn't! WAAAH! Murtagh ain't evil, he's AWESOME.

**DragonRider2000**: A schpork is my **EBIL WEAPON OF D00M! BORN TO A SPOON AND A FORK, SECOND COUSIN TO A BUTTER KNIFE, THIS WEAPON DEFEATS EVERYONE WHO DARES TO STAND IN ITS WAY! HAHAHA! BWAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!**

-goes insane-

**Coffee Grounds**: Thou darest attack me with ze bacon? **ATTACK!** You've had it easy until now—NO MORE SPORKS! GO, MINEST FORKS! Two tines, three tines, four tines, dessert forks, tuning forks—quiver before their might! Hahahaha!

No spoons, of course. We all know they're just wussies.

**Fredsonetrueluv:** Eragon/Arya so doesn't make the cut. I mean, for starters, Eragon is like, a frickin' baby compared to Arya. Plus she's a major major MAJOR MS…MS's are EVIL.

But yeah, THORN IS PWNSOME! He totally rocks my socks. YEAH!

**Off we skip to Helgrind! YAY YAY YAY! I just had a whole frickin' bar of chocolate so I'm feeling REALLY REALLY sugar rushy…happiness! JOY! SPLEE!**

**(And if my review responses make no sense, please excuse me cuz it's SUGARNESS! HAPPINESS! BAZOOM!!!!ness)**

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_9/14/101 _

Murtagh closed his eyes, leaning against Thorn's scaly hide. Around them, the winds screamed past as Thorn pushed through the air, flying at top speed towards Helgrind and the Ra'zac. It wasn't too far—Murtagh could faintly see it in the distance even from Uru'baen, and it would only be a half-hour journey on dragonback at most.

_You okay?_

Murtagh blinked muzzily, shrugging. _I suppose,_ he said at last. _Just a bit tired._

After his initial fury, Galbatorix had calmed down at an eerie rate, his mockingly creepy smile in place by the time he had gotten to the gate. While Murtagh healed his wounds, Galbatorix had been dishing instructions left and right, overlaying all of it with barely concealed menace. Every line of his being, every word he spoke; they all said the same thing: _If you dare to let them go, Murtagh, then you will suffer until you beg for death_.

_Like that doesn't happen every day,_ Murtagh thought dully, rubbing his head. But still, he admitted to himself, he _was_ shaken by the threat. While he had suffered plenty of pain and could probably take more—well, why ask for it?

_So,_ Thorn said conversationally. _You're going to be okay for a bit of fighting, right? Because I'm willing to bet we'll see quite a bit of it_.

Murtagh shrugged, fingering Zar'roc. The sword was cool to his touch, smelling faintly of oil: while Murtagh had been imprisoned, somebody had cleaned it, polishing the blade mirror-bright. _I'll draw energy from the void or else adrenaline_, he said. _I'll make it._

_Ah._ Thorn hummed tunelessly to himself for a moment before speaking again. _Okay, then. Let me get this straight. The spy said that Eragon and Saphira were heading to Helgrind, as well as…Arya, the elf, and…Ronan? Roran? What was his name again?_

_Roran._

_Roran. Who is he, anyway?_

_He's…Eragon's cousin, I suppose_, Murtagh said tonelessly. _The one that led all Carvahall to Surda._

_The one Galbatorix offered several thousand crowns for?_

_Yes_.

Thorn huffed softly. _Impressive. What are we supposed to do with _him?

_Galbatorix didn't say. But we'll have enough work to do anyway, with Arya and Eragon and Saphira to capture_. Murtagh closed his eyes, not allowing himself to think of the alternatives. Galbatorix had sealed the loophole he had used last time—even if Murtagh had wanted to, he wouldn't be able to let them go.

_And even if I could,_ Murtagh reflected glumly, _would I?_

_You _really_ need to stop agonizing over this, _Thorn said absently.

_It was a rhetorical question,_ Murtagh muttered, laying his palm against Thorn's jagged scales. _Not looking for an answer._

_I know. _Thorn tucked his wings close, beginning to descend. Ahead of them, a dark mountain loomed.

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They landed a half-mile or so from the mountain, careful to trail low to the ground. Murtagh found himself shaking slightly (with what? anticipation? fear? anxiety?) and was appalled.

_I'll do what I have to do,_ he thought with gritted teeth.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the sun-warmed air. He would need to be calm for this—to shut the voices in his head up, mostly, but also for coordination and control. After all, Eragon—by some mysterious means—moved and looked like an elf. His newfound grace and speed would be formidable skills to aid him, and Murtagh needed every ounce of composure that he could get.

A long minute trickled by. Slowly, the voices faded, dipping in volume. Murtagh pushed his conflicting emotions and loyalties away, shoving them into a hole at the back of his mind. He wouldn't need them. They would only be distracting.

Exhaling carefully, he opened his eyes.

The world seemed clearer now, brighter—or maybe it was just his imagination. Either way, Murtagh was no longer undecided—he would do his duty, do what he was ordered to do. Worries, doubts, second-guesses—well, the time for them was past. He relaxed slightly, his eyes and mind searching the landscape for any hint of Eragon, Saphira, the elf, or the cousin.

_There's a lair of sorts on top of the mountain, _Thorn reported, thudding onto the ground. Murtagh turned, half-surprised—he hadn't heard Thorn fly off in the first place. Thorn ignored it, continuing onwards. _Galbatorix said they were here to find some girl or the other, right? It's hard to spot, but there's a niche in the side of the mountain that I think leads to the core. The Ra'zac are nowhere to be seen, but I think they're _inside_ Helgrind._

Murtagh narrowed his eyes, expanding the range of his consciousness to search for the Ra'zac. _I can feel them,_ he said slowly. He reached out, calling, layering his mental command with their true names. Far off, he heard a distant reply.

_They'll be here soon. _He paused, returning to scanning the area around Helgrind. _There are a number of human minds in that mountain, Thorn_.

_In case they get hungry_, Thorn quipped, huffing softly with laughter. He paused for just a moment, closing his eyes slightly. _And here comes the hero._

Murtagh swung around, squinting against the noonday light. He couldn't see anything yet, but maybe it was just the sun…

_They know we're here,_ he said at last, reaching out with his mind. _Eragon, Saphira, Arya, Roran. All there._

_And they're scared,_ Thorn added, a predatory grin coming to his face.

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Thorn grinned with amusement as he tasted their minds. They weren't wet-their-pants scared yet, but there was a healthy amount of anxiety coming through. Enough to indicate that there was more.

He nudged Murtagh, who seemed half-lost in a trance. _Get onto me,_ the dragon said impatiently. _Or do you want to be caught on the ground?_

Murtagh blinked, his eyes focusing slowly. _No—_

_Hurry up!_ Thorn snapped. _This is no time for sentimentality. _

Murtagh shook himself, climbing slowly onto Thorn. Thorn quivered with impatience before unfurling his wings with a snap, pushing against air. This was going to be fun, no matter what conflicting thoughts Murtagh might have. Even now, Thorn could feel desperate second thoughts flicking through his Rider's head.

Thorn snorted. He had had no previous interaction with Eragon and his cronies, and was rather glad he hadn't. They sounded all like do-gooders, with nothing in mind but generally saving the world. But the point was, there wasn't exactly anything to save the world _from_.

Galbatorix wasn't evil, and even then evil was just a point of view. He was ruthless, certainly, and could use some training in controlling his temper—a part of Thorn flickered with fury towards him, anger at the man for torturing his Rider. Thorn could remember his own pain he had suffered at Galbatorix's hands—the scars were still there, after all this time.

But they were fading.

Thorn angled behind the mountain, keeping just barely out of sight. He hissed, feeling the undecision slip back into Murtagh's mind. The Rider was wavering, despite any oaths and bonds and control that he might have had—inexplicably, he was struggling to find a way out.

_There is none!_ Thorn said furiously. _Murtagh, you're just asking for trouble. You _know_ what he'll do to you, and you—how will you be able to stand it? Stop second-guessing yourself!_

If he—Thorn—had a choice, he certainly wouldn't choose to stand on Galbatorix's side. But the same way, he wouldn't choose to stand on the Varden's side. Both of them stood for opposite ideals, and both of them would probably struggle against each other until they self-destructed in a glorious bang. But things being the way they were—well, why flail against them and moan for _if onlys_? They wouldn't come true anyway.

_Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow_, Thorn muttered, annoyed. _Murtagh—you're only going to tear yourself apart. Stop. _Worrying!

Thorn punctuated the last thought viciously, hissing sharply with annoyance.

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Murtagh swallowed the bile rising in his throat, closing his eyes as he cast out with his mind again. They were on the other side of the mountain, playing hide-and-seek. One of the minds—Roran, most likely—was unshielded. Gritting his teeth, Murtagh threw himself in, searching his mind.

_Katrina—Katrina, where is she, this Murtagh fellow is here? That means Galbatorix wants to capture us—he's on the other side. We need a diversion, Arya—Eragon is needed—Eragon—_

_Stop!_

Murtagh growled with annoyance as a new consciousness twisted up to meet his, pushing him away. _Eragon,_ he snapped.

The other Rider didn't bother to reply as he layered himself over Roran's mind. _You're not getting in,_ he said at last, his voice cool.

_Little twit,_ Murtagh thought with exasperation, shaking himself free of the contact. He nudged Thorn upwards, his mind set. _Let's go!_

They broke out over the peak, sunlight striking them into sharp relief. On the other side, a blue dragon twisted, shooting forward sharply to meet them—from the dragon's back, a flaming white ball of energy shot forth from the Rider.

Murtagh blocked it, spitting out the words of a shield automatically. The energy splatted with a squelching sound, fading away into nothing as the shield dissolved it. Thorn gave a screeching cry, talons extended as lunged forward for Saphira. The two dragons collided with a colossal _bang_, sending birds scattering for miles around.

Something was wrong.

Murtagh hung on grimly, closing his eyes. _White_, not blue. How many passengers was Saphira carrying? Three? Two? _One—_Arya—

_Thorn!_ he shouted. _Thorn, get me over that hole!_

Thorn snarled, pivoting, his tail narrowly missing Saphira's spine. _Why?_ he panted, jumping away. _There's—_

_Just do it!_

Thorn hissed at Saphira, feinting towards her right. She took the bait, lunging forward, overshooting and fighting to regain her balance. Thorn slanted his wings, dropped altitude, and cried, _NOW!_

Murtagh jumped.

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Thorn spared a worried glance downwards, feeling Murtagh scrabble at the edge of the rock. He had a handhold, barely, but it wouldn't—couldn't—be enough to get him up—

A grating scream split the air. Thorn dropped, Saphira right on top of him—at the last second, he flared his wings, caught air, and pushed upwards. He whirled around, panting, red eyes blazing. _Come on!_ he snarled. _Come and get it!_

Another blast of magic shot forward. Thorn dodged, the beam narrowly missing him, his mind now tinged with a hint of panic—dragons didn't wield magic besides their fire, none that they could actively use. If a bolt of magic came towards him, all he could do was run. Run and hope it didn't hit him—

The scream sounded again, this time much closer. Thorn's head snapped up, and his heart gave a jump of relief. _Ra'zac!_ he cried. _They're here!_

He grinned at Saphira and the elf, Arya, who sat on her back. Behind and around him circled the Ra'zac, back from gods-knew-where, just in time. _All right,_ he thought viciously, panting fire.

It looked like much fairer odds, now that he had the Ra'zac with him.

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Murtagh gasped, fighting to lever himself up. The edge of the stone quivered under his hands, bits and pieces crumbling. Panting, Murtagh scrabbled for a foothold, fighting to lever himself up.

_Murtagh!_

Eragon's voice, sharp with alarm. Murtagh gritted his teeth and spat, "Reisa!" even as Eragon's mind touched his. There was a heartwrenching moment as he was yanked upwards, the magic dumping him roughly onto the ledge. With a muttered curse, Murtagh rolled to his feet, drew Zar'roc, and ran into the cave.

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**I'm spoiling you! Two chappies in one week. **

**-snickers- Hahahaha, a cliffie for you! Shall Eragon and his pals get out with the useless Mary-Sue? Or shall Murtagh totally kick everybody's ass and capture them all?**

**Bwahaha! If you're very awesome and review, then I'll tell you. That's fair, right?**

**REVIEW!**


	4. Testing Limits

**REVIEW RESPONSES! YEAAAAH!!! **

**Dreamgirlhoo**: Yes, ARYA WILL DIE! BWAHAHAHA! All Mary-Sues shall be crushed beneath my almighty sneaker heels. Or whatever.

Not enough angst between the brothers here. That comes next chapter, when Murtagh rants at Arya for hitting Thorn and Eragon defends the mighty MS. It's going to be FUN! ZWEE!

**Ann**: Thanks! I'm glad you like it.

**Lady Hikari-Yami**: Murtagh and Eragon join up? Hrm. –looks intelligent- I'm not too sure, really. I mean, yeah, they were friends once, but circumstances change…that's an idea. I've already got the vague shape of a plot forming, so I'll see what I can do.

**Fredsonetrueluv**: Not the Mary-Sues! NOT THE MARY-SUES! The Mary-Sues are really conquering CP's stuff…I mean, there's Arya, who'll probably become the third Rider (and thus enhance her perfectness), and then there's Katrina, who's a useless MS whose only purpose is to draw Roran and Eragon to Helgrind, and then there's…there's…okay, so there are only two. But they're bad enough.

**Carline**: -clutches Murtagh- NOOO!!! HE'S MINE! MINE, I TELL YOU, MINE!

Okay, since you won't believe me, let's ask him. Murtagh, who do you belong to, me or Carline?

Murtagh: You. Duh.

See? He's mine! You know he is. –shifty eyes-

I'll use your suggestion another time. I have some loopy ideas that'll come into flower if Murtagh ever gets captured. In fact, I think the third Rider will have something to do with it…you'll see. Ohh yes. You'll see.

**Alsdssg**: Eragon and crew shall be released this time around. I don't know, this plot is rather…well, nonexistent. I have half-formed ideas—Murtagh getting captured by Varden, Eragon getting captured by Galby—and then the consequences just kind of dance along. Either way, every choice just leads to more and more and more until I drown in the Swamp of Plotiness…

You might notice a coupla references to _Why Galbatorix is Lame_ in here. That's how much that fic has influenced me. Seriously, every time I read the books now, weird random scenes keep popping up in my head and totally ruin the solemnity of the scene. -bangs head against wall- RRAARGH, it's enough to drive me nuts! But in a funny way. X.x

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The cave was dark, with a faint smell of blood and decay overlaying everything. Murtagh sensed them before he actually saw them; they lit up in his mind's eye like torches in a pitch-black night.

"Litha," Murtagh murmured softly. Between his fingers, a small globe of light flickered. Twitching his fingers, Murtagh sent the light hovering above them, illuminating the scene.

Eragon stood directly opposite him, his jaw hard and set. A tanned, rugged man that had to be Roran stood just behind him, his eyes flicking nervously around. In one muscular hand he held a hammer with easy familiarity, a familiarity that made Murtagh raise an eyebrow. He'd heard of unorthodox weapons in his time, of course, but a _hammer_?

"Murtagh," Eragon said suddenly, his strangely elfin eyes narrowed. "I should've known Galbatorix would send you."

Murtagh smiled lightly. "It _is_ quite the opportunity, after all." He paused. "I suppose you're here to rescue Katrina?"

Roran made a strangled noise. Murtagh glanced at him, studying him thoughtfully. _What a family reunion_, he thought, darkly amused. His brother, his cousin—all they needed were the ghosts of Morzan and Selena to make it a party.

"Go down, two cells to the left," Murtagh advised quietly. "There are other prisoners the Ra'zac are keeping, too—you might want to take them to Surda; they'll only get eaten here." He shrugged. "But it's up to you."

Roran's eyes flitted toward Eragon, who nodded slightly. Warily, still keeping his eyes on Murtagh, Roran backed down the hall, vanishing from sight. As soon as he was gone, Murtagh raised a curtain of rippling fire over the entrance, blocking him away.

"This is between us, as Riders," Murtagh said when Eragon opened his mouth to say something counteractive, shaking his head. "Your cousin will only get hurt."

Eragon hissed softly, unsheathing his sword slowly as he took a step closer. It was a new sword, Murtagh noticed, most likely dwarven manufacture. Well, it couldn't compare to Zar'roc, anyway. Murtagh left the sword in his sheath, watching Eragon with a strange, detached calm.

"What do you want?" Eragon said coldly.

Murtagh shrugged. "Depends, really."

"So you're to capture us, then?" Eragon said, his voice sharp and challenging. "To take us back to Galbatorix, to bend us into service as his slaves? Like _you?_"

The last words echoed, faint and mocking. Murtagh sighed. "You might say that," he said at last, his voice mild. "You have the diplomacy and tact of a starving hyena, did anybody ever tell you that? Calm down. Yes, I have my orders, but I don't know if I can be bothered to drag you kicking and screaming back to Uru'baen." He paused, shaking his head slowly. "And if I did want to, Eragon, do you really think you could stop me?"

Eragon's jaw tightened. "I was tired last time. You try fighting for a whole day and see how you can take it."

"Pride," Murtagh said quietly, shaking his head.

"Truth," Eragon returned, sharp anger flaring in his eyes. "Maybe in your urge to slaver at Galbatorix's feet you've forgotten, I will _never_ serve Galbatorix. Alive or dead."

Murtagh paused, the thought bringing a faintly ironic smile to his lips. _Actually, the dead _do_ serve,_ he thought, brushing against the wavering voices in his head. The dead, through the Vault of Souls, were what gave him and Galbatorix their strange, unbreakable power.

"You have no idea how you wrong you are," Murtagh said, and attacked.

The dwarven blade and Zar'roc collided in a shower of sparks as Eragon parried hastily, his new elfin reflexes appearing with startling clarity. He was a whole lot faster than the last time they had fought; surer of foot and quicker to react. Murtagh, after his first intial strike, found himself holding a defensive stance as Eragon pressed forward.

_He's fast,_ Murtagh thought, half-admiring. _Sad that this battle isn't about swordsmanship… _

Murtagh narrowed his eyes, pressing forward with his mind as he thought a few rapid commands.

The effect was instantaneous. Eragon yelped as the dwarven sword in his hand glowed a shimmering blue, the air around the blade shimmering with heat. An instant after that, the blade dimmed and the red washed out—but the blade was useless now, brittle—and Eragon knew it. With a grimace of disgust he threw the blade aside, where it shattered with a resounding crash. "That's a foul trick, Murtagh," he snapped, looking annoyed.

"I know," Murtagh said. "Life's unfair. Get used to it." He paused, then sighed. Sheathing Zar'roc, he stepped forward slowly. "I have no choice, Eragon."

He reached forward, gripping Eragon's hand. Eragon shuddered, closing his eyes as Murtagh attacked again, this time with his mind.

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The voices were always there. Annoyingly. They were like an itch he could never scratch, buzzing at the back of his mind, surging forward in times of sharp emotion in a roar that threatened to overwhelm him. They had driven him to the brink of insanity more than once or twice; they even haunted his dreams—lost, drifting calls of those who weren't and wanted to be. That day, so many ages ago back in the Vault of Souls, Murtagh had given up something that he had just begun to discover and love, something whose loss had hurt him deeply, in return for these voices.

But along with the voices came power. Frightening, neverending power. Power to destroy worlds, to twist minds, and maybe—though Murtagh had never tried—to change time itself. Most of the time the power was a faint trickle in his mind: it was there, but he rarely tapped it.

Murtagh inhaled deeply, pulling away the mental barrier he had laid over the voices. They murmured, swelling, the power gushing out of him like a newborn stream. His hand tightening on Eragon's, Murtagh released them.

He _felt_ Eragon scream, the cry shaking through his frame, vibrating through Murtagh's. Eragon's defenses flickered as the Rider fought, struggling to repel Murtagh's attack. Murtagh's breath was harsh in his throat, his eyes half-closed as he let the power flow; let himself be carried away on this rush of strange, exotic ecstacy, to revel in the feeling of pure, untainted power and mastery and—

_MURTAGH! _

A burning pain streaked through Murtagh's left arm as half-blurred images shot through his mind: fire, smoke, Saphira descending with a triumphant shriek, the Ra'zac rising to meet her, _Arya_ and the white flame of magic, striking, hitting—

_Thorn!_ Murtagh screamed, shoving Eragon away from him. He spun with blind panic, knowing only that somewhere, Thorn was hurt, Thorn was _dying_, and he, Murtagh, was stuck in some stupid cave because he couldn't find the way out! _Thorn, hold on! _he thought frantically, groping for the entrance.

His arm burned viciously, the pain nauseating. Somehow, Murtagh managed to pull himself out of the cave, only to find himself a staggering height above the ground. He could see Thorn lying below, a red glimmer of ragged scales on black stone. Murtagh closed his eyes, fighting to think rationally. It was a long, agonizing moment before he finally remembered: "Durna!"

He jumped as he spoke, and the air around him acted like a giant parachute, slowing his descent enough to prevent any serious injuries. Once on the ground, Murtagh scrambled to reach the dragon, jumping over the rocky terrain. _Thorn?_ he said, heart pounding frantically. _Where'd it hit, where's your—your wing— _

Thorn was lying on his side, a position that Murtagh had never seen him in before. A wing was crumpled under him, with the familiarly acrid scent of blood in the air.

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_Oww… _

Thorn was more stunned than anything when the magic thrown by Arya first hit him. It tore into his wing, causing a great big huge gaping hole that Thorn could only stare at for a few frozen moments. Then they passed, and then he was falling.

_MURTAGH!_ he'd yelled, mostly out of shock. Then when he actually _hit_ the ground, that's when the pain set in—horrible, overwhelming pain from where his wing had crunched the ground, where he had slammed into it full force, blazing upwards. His head skittered down the face of the mountain, smashing heavily onto the rocky ground. Thorn swayed on the edge of consciousness, pain shooting through every vein of his body.

_Thorn!_ he could hear Murtagh say. The Rider's voice was distant, almost like an echo. _Thorn, hold on! _

_Like I've got a choice,_ Thorn gasped, feeling the hot slickness of dragon blood pool under him. _Murtagh… _

The words were fading rapidly, and it was a struggle to hold onto them. Strange, everything seemed so distant and blurry…

His wing hurt so badly.

_Everything_ hurt.

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Murtagh found himself shaking as he bent by his dragon, his fingers slipping clumsily through the blood. _Thorn?_ he said frantically. _Thorn, I need you to move, you're right on your wing— _

There wasn't an answer, not even a responsive flicker of consciousness. The connection between them was lifeless, without anything at the other end. Murtagh's heart stopped dead as he stared at Thorn, frozen by a single thought. _He's not—he's not breathing— _

"Thorn?" he whispered disbelievingly. _Come on, don't, you can't—it's just the wing, how— _

He was gasping like a drowning sailor, his frame shuddering as he stared. Thorn wasn't moving, wasn't breathing—he couldn't be dead, could he? He—

Then Thorn's chest moved.

It was a tiny movement, but then Thorn inhaled more deeply, his eyelids flickering. Murtagh groped along the mental connection—to his overwhelming relief, it was there. Thorn was unconscious. But he was alive.

Murtagh choked, staring. It took a few seconds for him to breathe again, relief sweeping through him to the point of giddiness. Murtagh shook his head, laughing—laughing at his own idiocy, for jumping to conclusions, for thinking the worst. "Guess I knew you wouldn't die on me," he whispered, kneeling by the dragon's side. He was shaking violently, almost hysterical with a combination of adrenaline, relief, and violent anxiety.

He touched Thorn's scales gently with trembling fingers, letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. If Thorn died, he would dry up and die himself. He was a Rider, and Thorn was his dragon, the one who knew him inside out. Thorn was his only companion in the hellpit Galbatorix called a city, the one who knew him better than he knew himself…

Murtagh closed his eyes, controlling himself. Laying his palm flat on Thorn's flank, he began to heal.

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**-snuggles- Thorny! Thorn's too awesome to die. Like Murtagh. Both of them hold a special place in my heart, they're so PWNSOME! Eragon, on the other hand… **

**…let's just say that if he weren't so important to the tale, I would've knocked him off quite a while ago. But as for Arya—well! –evil cackle- **

**A lot of you gave me opinions on whether Murtagh should win or not, and I have decided already. I'll tell you next chapter. Speaking of the next chapter... **

**If all the stars align properly in the sky (a.k.a I have enough time, enough inspiration, and enough REVIEWS!!!!) I'll post the next chapter on Sunday! –hint hint- You know you want to review. PRESS THE PRETTY PURPLE BUTTON! **

**However…um…I was going to say something else. Hrrm. **

**Oh, yeah. Um, I need names. I need one for a FEMALE HUMAN and a MALE DRAGON. Yes, the third dragon egg is gonna hatch! NOT TO A MARY-SUE! NOT TO A MARY SUE! YEECCCH!!! **

**Yep, the third egg is gonna hatch. And yes, it's going to be to a female because there are already three male Riders and I'm an ardent feminist. Equality among the genders! Blah blah blah! Crusade! Yay! **

**But I digress. NAMES, PEOPLE! DON'T FORGET! **

**And of course… **

**REVIEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!! **


	5. Empty Compensation

**Reviews! Splee! Okay, I'm going to respond to any recent T&M reviews here, too. Just cuz I'm awesome like that. **

**I'm moving the responses to the back. Onward with the story! **

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_9/14/101_

"Will he be all right?"

Murtagh blinked slowly, hearing the sound of the voice. Fuzzily, he shook his head, pulling out of his healing trance. Trying to stand, he found that his legs had gone stiff underneath him and pitched forward onto his face.

An arm grabbed him, pulling him up. Accepting the help, Murtagh climbed gingerly to his feet, his head spinning with the effort. Swallowing hard, he looked at Thorn.

The blood was still there, but the wound was gone. Carefully, leaning on Thorn's haunches, Murtagh bent down. The structure of the wing was intact, and the skin was whole. Thorn would survive. A wave of relief swept through Murtagh at the thought. Thorn would _survive_.

Straightening up, Murtagh turned slightly to look at the source of the voice. Eragon stood a few feet away, looking worse for the wear, leaning unsteadily against the base of Helgrind. A few paces to his right stood Arya, staring coolly at him with emerald eyes.

"Hello, Murtagh," she said very quietly, her voice soft.

Murtagh glared at her, his mouth tightened into a thin line. "Arya," he said coldly.

"It was necessary," Arya said calmly in response. "As they say, all's fair in love and war. You were on the verge of destroying Eragon. I almost destroyed your dragon. You have no basis for complaint."

Murtagh laughed mirthlessly. "Well, when you phrase it that way, I can hardly argue, can I? You know, Arya, Galbatorix had quite a few orders concerning you, too." He cocked his head, staring intently at her. "You survived Gil'ead. Would you survive Uru'baen?"

"We gave you the chance and time to heal Thorn," Eragon interrupted, stepping forward. "Do this, then. We'll depart from this place. Nothing gained and nothing lost."

Murtagh sighed, shaking his head. "It's hardly as simple as that, Eragon. Unfortunately, Galbatorix has a tendency to see things in black and white. I don't know if I can let you go; I do have my orders." He stopped, staring blankly in the distance as the voices in his mind surged, sensing his weakness. "And I don't know if I would."

"Even if you could?" asked Eragon, soft-voiced.

"Yes," Murtagh answered just as quietly.

He felt oddly hollow, alone. Arya and Eragon faced him, complementing each other perfectly—the elf and the Rider, both champions of justice, peace, and other noble things. Then there was him, Murtagh, standing against them, armed with an unconscious dragon and a constant, neverending itch of voices in his mind—well, what did that make him? A villain? A demon? A _monster_?

He looked down at his hands, his mind turning things over and over. Despite himself, he found himself tracing the lines of Galbatorix's orders, searching for any loophole. What _exactly_ had Galbatorix said?

_...if you encounter only one… if there is only Eragon, take him captive and bring him here. If you find Saphira alone, you are to contact Thorn so you can capture her together. Should Arya be with them...capture her and bring her back to me. _

He looked up, studying them uncertainly. True, they hadn't attacked him when he was at his most vulnerable—while he was healing Thorn, lost in a half-meditative trance. But in the same way, he hadn't killed Eragon...at least, not then. Would it be fair to take Eragon now? Or Arya, or Thorn?

"Murtagh?" Eragon said softly, seeing the indecision flicker across Murtagh's face.

Murtagh turned away, reaching out to Thorn. The dragon was still unconscious, unable to offer any kind of advice—it would be his choice. His alone.

From the top of the mountain, a voice called, "Eragon!", breaking the frozen silence. The three of them looked up, mutually glad of something else to distract them. A figure appeared above, waving its arms frantically—"I've got Katrina!"

"Okay!" Eragon yelled back. He paused, then added, "Get the others, too!"

"Others?" Arya said, raising an elegant eyebrow.

"Others," Eragon said firmly. He glared at Murtagh, as if daring him to disagree.

Murtagh shrugged. "Suit yourself. What _did_ you do to the Ra'zac?"

"Cleaned them up," Arya said, a distasteful twist to her mouth. "They scattered after your dragon fell. They're currently buried nose-first in dirt now, unconscious." She paused. "I would have killed them, but..."

Murtagh turned away before she could finish her sentence. He didn't want her pity. It was just as nauseating as Eragon's and twice as undeserved. Looking down at his hands, he found that he was shaking, affected by what he was about to do.

"Go," he said, fighting to keep his voice calm. "All of you—just leave. There are certain...loopholes I can exploit." Turning to them, he met Eragon's gaze as firmly as he could. "I will _not_ be able to let you go a third time, Eragon. Galbatorix will..."

He was unable to finish the sentence, fighting down a sudden lump in his throat. There was a thick, slow moment before he could speak again. _"Leave_."

He knelt down awkwardly by Thorn's side, staring fixedly at the dragon's neck. He felt both of them hesitate, and then Arya murmured something in a low voice. There was the gentle patter of footsteps, and a few other voices joined them—Roran's, and several he didn't recognize.

And then there was the heavy _thump_ as Saphira pushed off against air, and they were gone.

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Murtagh stood mechanically, brushing off his pants. Touching Thorn gently on the head, he turned, circling Helgrind.

He found the Ra'zac after a few minutes and took a moment to gain some hollow satisfaction at the sight. _Everything's so strange now_, he thought, staring at the Ra'zac._ You work with those who you once hated, and fight against those you loved... _

Parents and pupae alike had their faces shoved quite literally into dirt. With a slight grimace of disgust, Murtagh nudged one of the young—its head shifted, revealing what looked suspiciously like saliva oozing out of a beak.

"Charming," Murtagh muttered, jamming his hands into his pockets.

He looked up, surveying the peak of Helgrind. His mouth twisted into a depressed angle, he sighed. Maybe he should drag the Ra'zac back up...after all, if some idiot happened to come by and kill them, then who would get blamed? Him.

He closed his eyes, thinking the commands through. After a few seconds, an invisible disk of air seemed to solidify underneath them, lifting them smoothly upwards to the mountain. Murtagh directed it to the ledge leading inside, dropping the Ra'zac with a thump.

He'd been too busy trying to save Thorn and destroy the world and whatnot before to fully appreciate the view. Now, Murtagh took a few minutes to appreciate the sprawling city of Dras Leona—even from up here it looked filthy. Beyond the city was Leona Lake, which covered most of the horizon.

He sighed. It was about time to go back, try to wake up Thorn, and meet up with Galbatorix for his—

A soft wail sounded out from inside the cave. Startled, Murtagh turned, squinting into the dark depths of the cave. Casting out with his mind, he blinked with surprise—there were two people, two people that Roran had evidently failed to rescue. One was faint, flickering on the edge of death. The other—

He stepped into the cave, bringing forth another small globe of light. "Hello?" he called, eyes sweeping the darkness. "Who's there?"

A weak cry answered him. Murtagh followed the sound of the voice, winding deeper and deeper into the mountain. He finally found its source in a narrow passageway, barely visible against the dark—a young woman was slumped against the stone, her face ragged and dirty. In her arms was a cloth-wrapped bundle, most likely her child.

She flinched away from his light as he entered, shielding her face. "Who…what…" she mumbled, seemingly unable to say anything more.

"I won't hurt you," Murtagh said quietly. "Listen to me. I'm going to bring you out of here—it's not safe for you—"

"Don't touch me," the woman said, her voice like a plea. "Please don't hurt me…"

"Nobody's going to hurt you," Murtagh said impatiently. When she cringed away from him, he sighed and softened his tone. "Come on," he said, gently but firmly.

Encircling the woman's wrist, he pulled her out of the cave. She followed him wordlessly, the other hand clutched tightly around the bundled child. He asked her a few questions—who are you, what's your name—but got no response.

The Ra'zac were awake by the time he finally found his way out of the cave. They hissed at him, looking as annoyed as insects could look. "You cannot take her," one snapped. "Sssshe is ourssss."

"Shut up," Murtagh ordered coldly. "I don't care."

They shut up, but their eyes followed him all the way as he descended the mountain the way he came, floating effortlessly on a disk of air. Murtagh ignored them, a cold pit of anger flowering in his stomach—anger at the Ra'zac, at Galbatorix, at Arya, at Eragon, at _everything._

_Thorn?_ he prodded. _Are you awake? _

_Leave me alone_. A scaly eye opened, then snapped shut again. _I have a terrible headache_.

_Get up,_ Murtagh ordered, not unkindly. _If you can fly, we're leaving_.

Thorn sighed, hauling himself to his feet. _That eager to go back to Galbatorix? I assume the damsel in your arms isn't Arya? _

_Eager to get out of here,_ Murtagh retorted, boosting the woman onto the saddle. She hardly seemed to notice, staring glassily off into space. _If I don't get out of here, I'll kill the Ra'zac myself_.

_Who is she?_ Thorn asked, ignoring his last comment. _Are you going to take her back to Uru'baen? _

Murtagh pulled himself up into the saddle behind the woman, a painful wave of nostalgia rushing over him as he stared at her. The last time somebody had ridden Thorn with him, shared the rush of flying with him…

He shook his head violently, shoving away the memories. That somebody was gone, in a fate worse than death. There was no point in opening himself like this, falling prey to old memories.

Inhaling slowly, Murtagh stared up at the Ra'zac. They stared back, their lidless eyes conveying a message of utmost hatred and venom in their unceasing gaze.

_Yes, we are_, he said in answer to Thorn's question. _If only to deprive those filthy insects of a meal_.

Thorn knew better than to reply. Wordlessly, he took flight.

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**No, I am not making this up! There _are_ loopholes in Galbatorix's commands—very technical indeed, and very dependent on the intricacies of grammar, but they are there. **

**Who is this woman w/ snot-nosed child? Can thouest guess? –shifty eyes- **

**I know I didn't post two chapters last week, so I'll make y'all a deal, shall I? During this week, the plot bunnies attacked my house and I've already got chappies six and seven completed. If you guys give me SEVEN reviews for this chapter, I promise I'll post the sixth chappie the day I get them. If I get TEN, then I'll post both six and seven. Fair? Should be easy peasy lemon squeezy! **

**I have yet to decide on a name for Rider/dragon, although there are some I really really like. All of you are awesome! You gave me so many suggestions and names and (in the case of some –cough cough-) a whole bio and personality! Cool. I'll figure it out eventually. But in the meantime, you can continue to suggest names if they occur to you. **

**Kudos! Review or I'll send Thorn to eat you. Muahaha. **

**Thorn: I don't like the taste of human. **

**Me: Oh, shaddup. X.x **

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**Review responses! So many reviews. Happiness! **

**Blindseer220**: I laugh and laugh and laugh at the thought of Eragon and _Arya_ being an 'epic romance'. Ha! Angela is awesome, admittedly, but her prediction in this particular quarter is WAY off. If Arya and Eragon actually get married or whatever in the third book, I swear I'm going to break a rib laughing.

Jen to me sounds like a, I don't know, a really modern, crusader (or whatever) girl. No offense to any Jens out there. It's just that, when I hear of Jen, I keep thinking of the Jen in _Among the Hidden_ by Margaret Peterson Haddix.

**Ariel32**: -.- Much as I would love to throw Arya out the window, I can't because she's important to the whole saving-the-world-Varden-slash-Eragon kind of thing. She's a good guy. And we're supposed to love good guys. Even if they ARE MS's.

Hahahaha. I have _such_ weird ideas about what'll happen with the third Rider and all. –snickers- There won't be a romance. I have none _planned_, anyhow, but you know how my writing meanders all over the place. But, as of now, I am ninety nine point two four six three one four percent sure that there is no romance.

Yay! You liked Salem? AWESOME! I know that a lot of people were iffy about her. X.o Even though I tried really hard not to make her a MS! –sobs-

But the new Rider will NOT be MS. You'll see.

**Murtagh's Woman**: NOOOOO!!! Stop trying to steal MY Murtagh. Mine. –hiss-

ARGH, not Kraygon. There's this parody out there that's called 'Cragon', and 'Kraygon' rings a little too close for comfort. –winces- Cragon, Kraygon, Cra...anyways. –cough-

**LadyAlina**: Glenwing I think was, uh, one of the elves Arya was with? Glenwing and Faolin. Faolin being Arya's dead lover or whatever, I'm not sure.

I'm starting to wonder if ANYBODY can stand Eragon. Most people I find hate his guts! Or at least dislike him, anyway. Eragon...-starts foaming at the mouth- Grr...

**Lady Hikari-Yami**: The site asploded with the hard drives crashing, which is why you didn't get an alert and I had to drag myself ALL THE WAY across the Internet in order to read my reviews. –martyred sigh-

CP never mentions the first girl Rider, does he? I don't think so, anyway. As a matter of fact, I don't think we ever learn the first Rider-Dragon's name...

**Carline**: -blushes- Me? I would never threaten Murtagh. Murtagh is too awesome to be threatened, isn't that right? Say yes for the camera!

Murtagh: Mmmbrg! MMMMBBHRRH! MMMMBRRRRRRR— -gurgle-

Me: -flashes cheesy grin- See? That is Vogon for 'she is absolutely right'. Don't believe me? Get a Babel Fish. You'll see.

Note to self: Too much Hitchhikers is BAD FOR YOU! You start imagining things that don't exist.

**Alsdssg**: How do you pronounce 'Iormungr'? Like, ee-oh-mun-gur? Or yor-mun-gur? Or eye-oh-mun-gur? Or what? I wish CP would make up names that are actually pronounceable. I mean, nobody looks up the pronounciation guide anyways—for three traumatizing months, I went around pronouncing 'Arya' as 'area' and 'Murtagh' as 'Mur-toph' until I got laughed at by a friend. It scarred me for life.

I bet you dollars to donuts that Arya becomes the third Rider. You know, it would strengthen the nonexistent bonds of love between Eragon and Arya. –snickers- Yeah, right.

**Dreamgirlhoo**: Wow, cool, an entire history! –grins- I already have a pretty comprehensive history sketched out for my Rider, though it might not be what you expect. –snickers- I'll check out wikitionary. Yes, Wikipedia is pwnsome! It's amazingly accurate for an open-edit encyclopedia.

It's always so damn hard to make up names; it's so much easier to mooch them off somebody else. XP

**Numair's Only Magelet**: Ah, TP and GN fan! Cool. Nah, I don't want to take any of TP's names because a lot of CP readers also have read TP, and that'll give them a preformed impression of any character that I named for one after TP's stuff. Does that make sense? No? Who cares. Anyway, so that's why I can't take the names you suggested. But thanks anyway!

**Namine3419**: The Cheerio Leader? SPLEE! Actually, I prefer coco puffs…CHOCOLATE! GIVE ME CHOCCCCCCCK-OOOOOOOOO-LEEEEEEEEEEETTT!

**Queen of Sacasim**: I think it's 'sarcasm', but you may be misspelling it just for the heck of it, so I suppose I can't comment. Thanks!

**Coffee Grounds**: My spoons can multitask beautifully, yet are wimpy nonetheless. Just goes to show you can't judge everything by ability.

**DragonRider2000**: All you really need is an email address to get an FF account, you know. And to get an email address, you just sign up at gmail or yahoo or hotmail or whatever...

How could Eragon and co. help heal Thorn w/o Murtagh knowing it? Tis' an interesting idea, but I wouldn't know how to pull it off.

**KuriOukai**: ARGH. Yeah, I know, it's a major problem for me. I have a tendency to deformalize everything...I think CP's style is a bit too stuffy, and me, well, I guess I'm a more casual chatspeak kinda person. Except I don't do chatspeak cuz it's evil. But yes. Other people have told me so.

I shall attempt to avoid it in this fanfic! –triumphant music- Most likely I'll fail, but what the crap, it's the thought that counts, right?

**Miki**: Yes, CP put in NOTHING from Murtagh's POV! He'd better do it in the third book…or else. –evil cackle-


	6. Discoveries

**Holy crap!**

**So, when I get home from school, I decide to check my email. Log in, type, dum de dum de dum until I find that I have NINE REVIEWS! Nine for the first day? That's almost unprecendented. So I'm like, "Oh, hell, now I have to type out all these review responses! CRAP!"**

**But yay! You guys have passed the seven-review mark, at least. Mmmkay. I said seven for one chapter, ten for two, right? Here is your (one) chappie :) If you're extra nice and I get NINE reviews (up the ante, ha ha) for this I'll post the third on Sunday!**

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Llynis closed her eyes, feeling the harsh wind whip around her face. She sat stiffly in the saddle, afraid to move. Inside her arms, Orca shifted, her eyelids fluttering.

"Shh," Llynis whispered, hugging the child close.

She could feel the man behind her, sitting cold and aloof on his…dragon. Llynis blinked, half-stunned by the thought. _Dragon. And we all thought they were just rumors_. She shivered fearfully, her hands shifting on Orca. _What does he want with us?_

Without any visible prompting, they began a downward descent. Llynis bit back a shriek of terror as the land veered up towards them sharply, threatening to splat them all on the surface. When they finally settled down on a large, grassy plain, it was all she could do to keep breathing, closing her eyes tightly as the man slid off.

He would hit her now—grope her, spit on her, rape her. That's what men always did—oh, maybe they would show you some token kindness, but all they wanted in the end was a good night's ride. _What is he waiting for?_ she thought, terrified. _I wish he would just do it..._

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Llynis's head jerked up as she stared wildly at the man. He wasn't even looking at her; his gaze was directed at something off in the distance. Furtively, she followed his gaze—it was to a city, a really _big_ city. Much bigger than Dras-Leona, and definitely bigger than tiny Owlshollow.

He turned, then, his eyes sliding to meet hers. Llynis swallowed, dropping her gaze immediately, focusing on Orca like her life depended on it. The little girl shifted in her arms, blinking sleepily. "I'm sorry," Llynis whispered.

He didn't say anything. After a moment, he said, "What's your name?"

"Lly—Llynis. Sir."

He grunted. "Don't call me 'sir'. Is that child yours?"

"No, sir—I mean, I mean, no. Orca's not mine, but I've been taking care of her ever since her ma died." Llynis swallowed, feeling sick. She was talking too much—he'd get angry now, hit her for being annoying.

The anticipated blow didn't come. Instead, hard, callused fingers gripped her chin lightly, pulling it up. "Don't be afraid," the man said softly. "I won't hurt you."

Llynis didn't answer a stupid statement like that. Let him say whatever he liked. He'd change his mind soon enough.

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The girl was _terrified_ of him, Murtagh thought foul-temperedly. With a sigh, he let her go, staring darkly off into the distance at the city of Uru'baen.

_Not that this isn't simply fascinating, but aren't we supposed to be doing something?_ Thorn asked idly, kneading his talons through a patch of dirt as his eyes flickered back and forth from Murtagh to Llynis and back. _Like, going back and getting tortured?_

_I'm procrastinating,_ Murtagh replied with a sigh.

_I can tell._ Thorn eyed Llynis thoughtfully, cocking his head. _Where do you suppose she's from? And the little girl? What're we going to do with them, anyway? You do know that she's terrified right about now. Though from what, I can't imagine..._

_Men,_ Murtagh answered, shaking his head. _She's frightened of men._

_Ah. The joys of being a sex slave. She's about the right age...youngish, pretty. Sort of. If you squinted. On a dark night._

_The men who buy sex toys don't care about age,_ Murtagh said softly, shaking his head. _As long as the flesh under them isn't wrinkly, it's all the same to them. _

Thorn sighed, a thin huff of smoke rising into the air. Llynis let out a mewl, clutching the child—what did Llynis call her…Orca?—closer to herself. Murtagh touched her mind briefly, getting a taste of animal panic and protective fear for Orca. _She won't end up like me,_ came the thought, sharp and acidic. _I won't let him touch her..._

Murtagh sighed, annoyed. _I give up. Let's go. I might as well get it over with._

_And what'll you do with her? _Thorn asked idly, stirring the dirt with a talon.

Murtagh hesitated. _Employment at the palace, I suppose. It's better than prostitution in the slums_.

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Llynis couldn't breathe. They were flying again, soaring at a horrible height above the ground, which she would much rather be on. _I wish he'd left me there,_ Llynis thought, shaking. _What does he want?!_

Orca squirmed faintly, uncomfortable in Llynis's killer grip. The young woman loosened it, smoothing back a coil of dirty brown hair away from Orca's face.

_He won't get her,_ Llynis vowed silently. _Not now. Not ever. _

Orca was so _thin_, she thought painfully. She was five, but didn't look older than three or four. Ever since Amarine had been...had vanished...during their imprisonment, Llynis had taken care of Orca. The little girl had barely understood what was going on, and was still too young to understand how the world wanted to hurt you, destroy you in every way possible.

Something huge touched her mind. Something that wasn't just one voice, but was so many thousands twined over and over and over and _over_…Llynis screamed, nearly falling off.

A hard hand twined around her waist, and Llynis froze. He wouldn't even wait to get back onto the ground. She swallowed, waiting for him to make his move, to put his fingers into her...

_Calm down._

One voice detached itself from the mass, coming out louder than all the others. It sounded almost peeved, with a touch of acid annoyance. _I'm not going to rape you, you twit,_ it said sharply. _You're going to fall off, and it's a long distance to the ground. Listen. When we descend, it's going to be in Uru'baen, within the palace walls. Slide off the dragon and _leave_. You have a two or three minute window at most; then otherwise, you're on your own. If you wish to stay around, then circle around the left. You'll find a small side entrance near a smaller stone building. Enter in there. If you ask politely, they'll give you a job. No, not _that_ kind of job,_ the voice added tartly, sensing her growing hysteria. _Anybody who takes a palace servant without the permission of the stewards is subject to punishment. Nobody will touch you under that kind of protection._

Llynis shook her head violently, and the voice grew more annoyed. _It's your choice. But if you have any sense, you'll do as I say._

Voices, Llynis thought, trembling. The first sign of madness.

_Ha!_ came the sardonic bark. _You don't know anything about madness._

_Who are you?_ Llynis asked, clutching Orca tight.

There was a pause. Then the voice said dryly, _I'm your guardian angel. You'd do well to listen to me_.

The voice cut off, and the tumult of echos withdrew. Llynis slumped, feeling distinctly sick.

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Thorn landed on the edge of the royal woods, being as indiscreet as a huge red dragon can possibly be. Gritting his teeth, he waited as Murtagh tried everything short of shoving Llynis off in a futile attempt to shoo her away. The woman refused to move—eavesdropping on the conversation, Thorn found out that she appeared to be frozen with terror.

Thorn closed his eyes as an alien force brushed his mind; it was Galbatorix's mind, sensing their return. On him, the one-way conversation was suddenly silenced—Murtagh had sensed it, too.

"Okay," came Murtagh finally. "You want to stick around—your choice. Do not blame me if you're—"

There was a whispered reply, and then Murtagh snapped harshly, _"_If you don't care about yourself, do it for her. Orca."

A sudden silence fell. Then, Llynis slid off the side. She wavered, shaking like a mouse in a hawk's shadow before fleeing for the woods. Thorn watched her go, flicking his tail slowly.

_She's a woodland girl?_ Thorn said idly.

_Apparently. She comes from Owlshollow. Wherever Owlshollow may be. It sounds small enough, so I suppose she'd have a fair experience of hunting and trapping and general woodland survival skills._ There was a soft sigh, and then Murtagh said very quietly, _Thorn?_

_Yes?_ Thorn answered, sensing the sudden vulnerability in Murtagh's voice. _What's wrong?_

_Everything_. Murtagh's voice was shaky, betraying a strange, more emotional part of him that Thorn hadn't heard in months. Months upon months. In fact, he hadn't heard it since that horrible day back in Vinael Ephicai, since...well...since the voices had taken over, since Murtagh had had to practice flat control in order to keep his mind together. It surprised Thorn as to just how much softer Murtagh's voice was without that control, how much more unstable.

Thorn fumbled for an answer, suddenly unsure. What could he _say_, anyway? "Oh, don't worry, it'll be all right?" But it wouldn't. "I'm sure Galbatorix wouldn't hurt you too badly?" But yes, judging from past experience, Galbatorix did not tolerate failure easily. "Don't worry, we'll both suffer together?" But that didn't make sense either, because Galbatorix could block their connection and keep them isolated from one another.

Thorn was still struggling for an answer when Galbatorix arrived.

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"Well."

It was strange how a single word could be loaded with so much venom and scorn. Murtagh wavered, flinching from the cold hostility that emanated from Galbatorix. Panic clawed through his stomach, threatening to overwhelm him—sensing this, the voices rose, the noise becoming almost unbearable. Murtagh closed his eyes, focusing on drawing one breath at a time.

"I should have expected this, I suppose." Galbatorix's voice pierced through his false calm, drumming mercilessly into his skull. "Always seeking any crack, any mistake, any slip of the tongue I have!" He stopped, cold fury flushing his cheeks. "Look at me, you little mongrel!"

Murtagh's eyes snapped open, and he stared into Galbatorix's disturbingly elfin features. The emperor smiled at him—coldly, mockingly. "What did I promise you if you failed me this time?" he whispered softly, staring Murtagh deep in the eyes. "Was it a painful death? Or a painful life? Or torture that extends even into your dreams?"

It took all the courage Murtagh had to make his reply. Forcing the fear down with massive strength of will, he spat through gritted teeth, "You can do what you want. But I won't. I won't ever serve you willingly."

The emperor laughed, his mood changing so rapidly it was unnerving. "I don't need you to serve me willingly. Come to think of it, I don't even need _you_, assuming 'you' here means your mind. After all—it's the dragon that made the Riders powerful, no? And with you under proper control..."

Thorn hissed softly besides Murtagh. Galbatorix ignored him, watching Murtagh like an amused elder watching a misbehaving child. "I have a new toy for you, Murtagh," Galbatorix said conversationally. "Why don't you follow me back to the dungeons and you'll see?"

Galbatorix smiled almost playfully at him as he stepped back. Brushing Murtagh's cheek lightly, he murmured, "Slytha."

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**MURTAGH! NOOOOO!!! GALBY, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!**

**Galby: What?! I didn't do anything! I haven't even appeared in the books yet…**

**Me: Waaaah! But why are you doing this to Murtagh?!!!**

**Thorn: Considering that you're the one writing this fic, you should really kill yourself or something. You're the one that's making Galby-Shmalby do everything.**

**Galby: Don't call me Galby-Shmalby!**

**Thorn: Excuse me, typo. Galby-Schmalby is what I meant. Forgot the c. **

**Galby: ARGH! –goes off to kill Thorn for slandering his name-**

**Me: NOO! YOU NO TOUCH THORN! –clings to dragon-**

**Thorn: GET OFF ME, YOU CRAZY IDIOT! ARGH! HELP!**

…**and where did Murtagh go?**

**Next chappie is Llynis/Galby-Schmalby. Won't that be fun? NOW REVIEW!**

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**Happy review responshes! Review responshes! YAY!**

**LADIE RED**: You can speak Maori? Maoriese? Maorish? Whatever? COOL! Yes, and Murtagh is the ze Most Awesomest Character of CP's stuff. The rest are just so...I don't know, stupid. Eragon's a git, Arya's a MS, Roran is so...I don't know, strong traumatized leader, Saphira (even though dragons are AWESOME) is a bit too motherly. I mean, she's like eleven months old. But Murtagh? He **rocks**.

**Fredsonetrueluv**: EAT ARYA? YEAH! GO, THORNY BOY! GO EAT THE PWETTY ELF!

Thorn: -grins-

Arya: NOOO! –fires magic ray-

Murtagh: Don't touch Thorn, you evil MS! You shall die! –stabs-

Arya: -gurgles-

Thorn: -crunch crunch- Mmm... –burp-

Yayness! XD

**Dark Seroph**: -laughs- Ha, Erasmus? I had a fish named Erasmus once. Or more accurately, I had a fish that my sister called Erasmus and I'm like, "Who in hell is Erasmus?" Of course, I was about ten years old then so I could hardly know about weird Renaissance people, now could I? (He is a Renaissance guy, right?) I've already chosen the names for the Rider, but I'm still teeter-tottering on the dragon. THERE ARE TOO MANY PWNSOME NAMES!

**Ariel32**: SALEM'S DEAD! SHE'S GONE! FOREVA! WAAAAAAAAHHH! –sobs melodramatically- Okay, okay, technically she's not dead, but since she's stuck in the VoS for forever and the statutory day, that's pretty much equivalent to dead.

One day, I will have a bloody revenge planned for Arya. I can't kill her off yet because she –might- be important to the plot, but I do have several rather interesting (and vague) ideas of what just might happen. You never know. –cracks knuckles- After all, how hard can it be to bump off Arya oh-so-accidentally—

YOU DID NOT JUST HEAR ME SAY THAT! YOU HEARD **NOTHING!!!**

**Alsdssg**: Eragon? Isn't that pronounced 'Er-rag-in'? Or have I been pronouncing that wrong too all this time? Tis traumatizing when I dost not know if I am pronouncing the names of our favorite heroes –cough- incorrectly all this time!

YES! YAY PARODY! Maybe next is WGiL you could parody random scenes. I mean, there's just so much parody-material available in CP's books. Much as I hate to say it, of course. If you do parody the romance, bring in Faolin and have him beat Eragon up.

Wiki! Wikiwikiwiki! Yay Wiki!

**Carline**: Tis a dismaying lack of sugar in your response. EAT CHOCOLATE! NOW, MISSY, THAT'S AN ORDER!

I think all the pep and insanity in your bloodstream decided to overload on me cuz I'm so frickin' going nuts now. I _should_ be doing homework or practicing piano but I just can't concentrate. I HATE HISTORY! _The Western Heritage_ drives me NUTS!

**BlindSeer220**: Argh, nobody found the loophole! I shall explain it next chappie, if I remember. Remember, though, it's really, really technical.

Where can you find pics of the movie? I've been looking FOREVER, but all I can find are those really ugly movie posters. Can you list the name of a site?

**Desert Angel**: Aww, thankees! I figure when the third books come out I'll have major major ZWEE! corrections to do, but I'm just so damn lazy that T&M will probably rot the way it is from here to all eternity. Yargh. I doubt CP will do any close-up detail on Murtagh—he's been reduced to the crazy-sword-obsessed-half-brother-you-keep-locked-up-in-your-closet, after all. –sighs-

**DragonRider2000**: -gasps- Your brother fell in love with ze Mary Sue. Ze EBIL Mary Sue? Ze perfect-elf-Arya-EBILEBILEBIL-Mary Sue?

ARRRRRRRGHHH! Unimaginable! Horror! Gaspeth! –gnaws at gigantic chocolate bar- I shall have some chocolate to drown my unimaginable pain. You can have some, but NOT YOUR BROTHER! NOOOOO!!! AND DEFINITELY NOT THE MARY SUE!

**(T&M review) **

**Sakyn**: ARGHHH! Well, it's too late now. Blech. Somebody else also mentioned the Mary-Sueish characteristic…I think it was Ridin' Dirty? Anyway, I'll explain again—the whole hearing-thoughts thing came from a vague alternate plotline in which Salem had magic. But that would've totally been the point of Mary-Sueness, so in the end I decided to get rid of it. Waah! You don't like Salem…? ;.;


	7. Impressionable Character

**-laughs- Okay. Guess what?! About an hour after I went into the bookstore, I saw this Eragon book with the lame movie cover, right, and I'm like, OMG! It's December! Holy crap, I totally forgot! December, that means the MOVIE'S COMING OUT!**

**And then I look through the 'eight pages of color pictures from the movie!' from the book and I have to start laughing. My god, they're just so—so—I don't know, _unique_. Eragon is blond. He. Is. Blond. YECH! No offense, but he's a BRUNET!!! And then a reviewer happened to mention to me that Arya doesn't have pointed ears, and I notice that too. And then I crack up in the middle of the store, and everybody stares at me.**

**And then my parents and I walk out of the store, and we find that our car has been towed. XP But that's another story.**

**Anyway, so I tried to play the trailer when I got home, but the computer got all bleepy on me and nearly crashed. Despite the movie's lame pics, I do sincerely hope it comes out in the local movie theater in Kaoshiung City. If not, I shall cry.**

**I am babbling. ON WITH THE TALE!**

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_9/14/101_

Galbatorix leaned against the nondescript stretch of blank wall, boring a hole into it with a practiced stare. Then, as he focused the force of his magic on it, he stepped forward, _into_ the wall.

It gave way like soft butter, bouncing slightly behind him. Galbatorix ignored it, an annoyed twist to his mouth as he lit the lamps. This was his own private little cubbyhole, a room that was concealed by strong magic and only accessible by himself. In it he kept various magicks that were too dangerous to be left lying around anywhere else—and of course, the third dragon egg.

Galbatorix unlocked the chest containing the third egg, settling it on the low table with a moody sigh. Bloody damn egg. If only he'd picked a different one, a _female_ one. Then he wouldn't have to settle for all this stupid trouble of his pet Rider getting all sentimental and letting the only female dragon in existence go. So annoying.

But still. Galbatorix brightened up slightly as he got out of his chair, heading over to a series of scrollshelves. Carefully, he nudged one out—it almost fell apart in his hands; it was that fragile. "Rumeria," Galbatorix said absently, paging through the vellum pages. "Rumeria, Rumeria, Rumeria…"

Rumeria was an elf. A Rider elf, to be precise, one of the (supposedly) very best before accidentally getting eaten by a couple peckish fanghurs. How that happened was still a bit of a mystery, considering that Rumeria was one of the best in magic to ever exist.

But that was beside the point. The point was that during Rumeria's rather long life, she had been one of the chief Riders in charge of law enforcement around Alagaesia. To this end, she had experimented with magic in different ways—how to confine criminals, how to control them, how to 'reform' the worst of the worst with magic, how to wipe their minds and create them anew.

Which was perfect for what Galbatorix needed. See, simple pain obviously wasn't enough to rub the message in for Murtagh. No...Galbatorix needed something _creative_. He no longer was content with magical strictures—something more extreme, something more permanent was required. Something like...

Galbatorix ran a critical eye over the faded runes. This particular section described how to 'convert' a criminal, to dampen his or her criminal instincts. For instance, serial murderers or kleptomaniacs. The idea was that you could _suppress_ parts of the mind, locking away lust or greed or whatever it was that motivated them to commit crime.

Tricky? Oh, yes. Rumeria droned on and on about the dangers of slipping, of going too deep or too far and doing some unintentional, nasty, and permanent damage. Still, it shouldn't be too much of a problem—he knew Murtagh's true name, after all.

When he was done with this, this would be a very fine-tuned form of control. After all, what Galbatorix really needed anyway was Murtagh's skills, not his _mind_. Especially not the sentimental part that was prone to soppy heroism.

Galbatorix grinned, running rapid calculations through his mind as he stood up. It would take quite a while to set up, and even longer to actually do—but hey, why worry? He had all the time in the world.

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It took Llynis quite a while to gather up enough nerve to enter the palace. Once she did so, she was so intimidated she almost ran right back out—there was just so much _noise_, and too many _people_, and—and—

"Excuse me, sir, do you know who I can apply for work with?" she heard herself saying to a nearby man, her mouth opening almost impulsively. As the man turned towards her with a quizzical expression on his face, Llynis felt a big, blotchy blush streak over her face.

"Rosara's the head chef," the man said uncertainly, a look of puzzlement still on his open face. He pointed to a large, dark-skinned woman whose posture spoke of easy authority. "Why? Who're you, anyway?"

Llynis gulped, unsure of what to say. "I…I need work," she mumbled, feeling herself start to shake.

He seemed to notice her fear, and his voice grew awkward. "Aw—aw, miss, don't be scared. It's just that nobody's ever called me sir, you know? And oftentimes people come in here knowing their positions already." He wiped his hands on his uniform, leaving a greasy stain. "Don't worry. Rosara's a real nice ma'am."

Not trusting her voice, Llynis nodded meekly. The young man hesitated, then tugged on her elbow. "Come on. I'll tell Rosara about you—what? Did I hurt you?"

Llynis stood shaking a few few away, having flinched when he touched her. Quivering, she shook her head. The man blinked, then shrugged. "Your business." Looking annoyed, he turned away.

"No!" Llynis gasped. "No! Please, don't. I just—I need work, badly—I do, I do, I do—"

The man stopped, turning around slightly with a dubious look on his face. Finally, he shrugged. With a distinct note of annoyance to his voice, he said, "Fine. Whatever. Come on."

He stalked off in Rosara's direction. Llynis bit her lip, fighting not to cry—she didn't want him to touch her, but she didn't want him to be angry at her. Angry men hit more; they always came back to haunt you. Maybe she should've just stayed in the woods. Owlshollow had been woodland, she could've survived. She didn't have to stay in this horrible, horrible place...

"Lass?"

Llynis blinked, jerking out of her reverie. Rosara stood in front of her, with the man hovering around the side. "Lass, you all right?" the big woman asked, concern in her voice. "You look like you've been plague-bitten."

"Sorry," Llynis managed after a strangled moment.

"Don't be sorry. Derek, back to work," Rosara ordered at the man, flapping a dishcloth. Derek grimaced and left, heading out the door. That taken care of, Rosara turned back to Llynis. "He tells me you're looking for work, lass?"

Llynis nodded, and Rosara pursed her lips, apparently thinking. "Well, I can't take another into my kitchens, but I know the laundries have been looking for new help. With Corin mumbling about all them nobles filtering back for the winter, she'll be glad for new help. The child yours?"

Llynis blinked, thrown off by the abrupt change in topic. She nodded.

"I see." Rosara drew a stubby stick of charcoal out of her pocket, scribbling something on a wrinkled piece of parchment. Llynis watched, awed—she'd never met anybody who could _write_ before; it seemed almost magical as to how strangely shaped symbols could make _meaning_.

Now Rosara made some runes, frowning over them. After a moment's thought, she changed her mind, crossing about half of them out, replacing them with a new batch of scribbles that looked no different from the ones that were there before. Rosara seemed satisfied, though, handing the note to Llynis.

"Go through door, lass," Rosara said, pointing to a door at the other end of the room. "Down that hall, take a right at the very end, then head down the first set of stairs you see. Ask anyone for Corin, all right? Give the note to her."

Llynis nodded. Rosara eyed her for a moment. "Isn't the child heavy?" she pointed out.

Llynis looked down. Orca was wide-awake now, peering at her with dark brown eyes. Llynis considered it, then lowered Orca to the floor. The little girl got slowly to her feet, eyeing Rosara with a slow, solemn gaze.

"I thought so," Rosara said with approval. "Both of you, too thin for thought!" Swiping two rolls off a passing red-faced man, she handed them to Llynis. "One's for your wee child. Go, now. Remember—ask for Corin!"

Rosara turned away, and Llynis handed one of the rolls to Orca. Gripping the girl's hand tightly, she left the kitchens.

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Corin was a dry, stick-like woman, almost the exact opposite of Rosara. Underneath her loose uniform, though, Llynis could see trace evidence of sturdy arms that were used to hard work.

Corin eyed her skeptically, then reread the crumpled note in her hand for the umpteenth time. She snorted, then shrugged. "Who am I to argue with Rosara?" she said to nobody in particular, raising her eyes to the heavens. Llynis waited, silent.

"Very well," Corin said at last, looking grim. "I'll take you on. But you'll do your share of the work, girl. The child yours?"

Llynis glanced at Orca. Afraid to say anything to the contrary—Corin might not let her keep Orca otherwise—she nodded.

Corin rolled her eyes. "They just get younger, don't they? I see. Well, I suppose she can come into the working parts of the palace—but if she makes trouble, girl, that's on you."

Llynis didn't respond, but Corin didn't seem to notice. Her point made, she changed topics, loading Llynis with information as to her duties, how to perform them, times, dates, how to prepare colors, whites, blacks, purples; on and on and on until Llynis's head was spinning. Huddling deeper into her thin shift, she gripped Orca's hand tighter. The little girl, standing beside her, looked at her solemnly but said nothing.

Come to think of it, Llynis had never heard Orca say anything. Not in the past year, anyway, not even before her mother died. Strange. Llynis had had a three-year-old cousin who just wouldn't shut up, but Orca was already five and she hadn't said a single—

"That's all. Any questions?"

Llynis's head jerked up, and she blushed, fumbling to hide her inattention. "Um—no, ma'am."

Corin gave her a stern look. "Are you sure?"

Llynis nodded, mute.

"Very well." Corin beckoned another woman over with a short gesture, turning to Llynis. "Trisi will show you to your quarters. I expect you to be out here by the time the clocks strike two."

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Trisi was talkative. While Corin had talked a lot, too, the talk had been mostly information—how to perform duties, so on and so forth.

Trisi, on the other hand, seemed to know every bit of gossip about everyone and everything. In the short walk from the laundry to the tiny servants' quarters, Llynis learned about how Earl Shutson had four mistresses, Duchess Ophelia had sixteen pearl necklaces and once wore them all to the Summer Ball, Lady Norrin was engaged to the Earl Barrickson (his _sixth_ wife!), two of the servants (Jory and Lart) were planning to elope (how _very_ romantic), the mysterious son of Morzan, Murtagh, had disappeared from court, _again_, and the king's winebearer was imprisoned for high treason just last week. Llynis said absolutely nothing, but Trisi didn't seem to mind.

Trisi continued talking as Llynis silently dressed in the palace uniform. When Llynis made to take Orca with her, Trisi paused. "I'm not sure that's allowed," she said dubiously. "Maybe you should leave the girlie in the room, y'know?"

"Corin said I could bring her into the working parts of the palace," Llynis said softly. Trisi shrugged, apparently dismissing the matter, and continued to talk.

And talk.

And talk.

Llynis perfected the technique of ignoring somebody on the walk back. Trisi continued to talk at a supernatural speed, words gushing out as Llynis half-wondered how _anybody_ could understand her.

Corin met them at the laundry door, dismissing Trisi with a thanks and a nod. Beckoning to Llynis to follow her, they headed out into the working quarters. She glanced pointedly at Orca as they walked along. "You brought your girl? Very well. She understands what people say, no? Even if she doesn't talk much herself?"

Llynis nodded. Corin considered for a moment, then said, "As I said, she may roam the working part of the palace. I highly suggest she stay out of the lower levels and the main part of the palace—the nobles don't appreciate it when a servant's child gets in their way. You understand that, girl?"

Orca stared at Corin, her face expressionless. Llynis gave her fingers a little shake. "Orca?" she asked quietly.

Very, very slowly, Orca nodded. Llynis gave an inward sigh of relief—sometimes you couldn't get any response at all from Orca. It would be like talking to a brick wall.

She let go of Orca's hand, watching her uncertainly. "You understand everything, Orca? You get it?"

The little girl stared at her solemnly. With a sigh, Llynis realized that that was all the response she was going to get.

Hoising up her skirts, she hurried after Corin.

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**Llynis may be important, but I think Orca will have a fairly big role too. It remains to be seen. **

**I'm sorry, fellas. I happen to think this chapter is rather dull…but it tis' a necessary evil. Next week shall contain the fascinating adventures of Murtagh again. And Thorn. Maybe a little Llynis, but most likely not. Oh, I don't know. Don't listen to me.**

**What exactly is ol' Galby-Schmalby plannin' to do wit' me Murtagh? Arr, tis' a most cliffy thing, savvy? Ye landlubber's're just going to have t'wait anotha week.**

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**Reviews yesh yesh yesh! Responshes!**

**BlindSeer220**: Cool. I watched the trailer yesterday, and to my utmost disappointment there was only one faraway snapshot of Murtagh. I swear, if Garrett Hedlund screws up Murtagh's character, I shall take a rusty axe and SLICE. HIM. UP. Bwahaha.

**Coffee Grounds**: -glares- I would hardly stoop to being so stereotypical. Besides, Galbatorix wouldn't leave his pweshus little eggy out in the middle of the woods, now would he? He's not _that_ silly.

Galby: I'm not silly at all! Take that back!

Me: Shut up, you.

Galby: -gulp-

What time was it when you reviewed? Sounds like you were fairly zoned out...XP

**Ariel32**: Okay, I shall promise you—LLYNIS AND MURTAGH WILL **NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOOOTTT** HAVE A ROMANCE! Happy now? –holds hand to heart- Cross my heart and hope to die. I swear upon all that is holy, good, and fluffy that Llynis and Murtagh will not get together.

**Dark Seroph**: Actually, it was a Siamese Fighting fish. My fourth in two months, incidentally. And then he died mysteriously and made me very sad, and so I cried.

We did have goldfish, but they were named much more pragmatically. Let's see if I remember…2Scale, Poopiver, Lardball, and Albino. Charming names, yes?

**Fredsonetrueluv**: Bwahaha! I'm very fond of my Galby, actually, he's so adorably evil I want to hug him. I mean, it's so hard to make a really 'mean' evil villain, at least for me—so much easier to make them like the wicked witch in Hansel and Gretel.

Yeah, I know Thorn was mean. But I wanted to emphasize that Llynis isn't a stunning beauty or a mild beauty or a shy beauty or even mildly attractive. I mean, she' s not horribly ugly, but she's not pretty either. She just…is.

Little wittle Orca. Galby shan't get his dastardly palms on her! At least, I hope not. Who knows?

**Dreamgirlhoo**: -grins- Wow, that is really bugging you, is it? Okay, I'll explain. You'll probably want to smack me, but I'll explain anyway.

(and for those people who like to read all of my witty responses even if they're not directed to you, you might like to take a little look here too. Just saying)

Here're Galby's orders, duplicated for your benefit:

_The next time you see Eragon and Saphira, you are to capture them—together if possible, separately if you encounter only one. If there is only Eragon, take him captive and bring him here. If you find Saphira alone, you are to contact Thorn so you can capture her together. Should Arya be with them...capture her and bring her back to me._

'See' is not the same as 'find', mmkay? Murtagh _found_ Eragon and Saphira (and Arya and Roran), but he never actually 'saw' them together. He saw them separately, as in Arya/Saphira, Eragon/Roran, and Arya/Eragon, but he never saw Saphira and Eragon together.

Next. 'Separately if you encounter only one'. Murtagh never encountered only one at a time. He encountered Saphira with Arya and Eragon with Roran, but he never met just one at a time. Yes, for a time he _saw_ Eragon alone, but he didn't 'encounter' him alone. In my dictionary, 'encounter' means _to meet somebody without having arranged to do so beforehand_. Meet indicates the first moment of contact, not the remainder.

For the same reasons, Murtagh isn't bound to capture Saphira. 'if you find Saphira alone'…he didn't find her alone. He found her with Arya and Eragon and Roran, not alone.

What about Arya? Okay. _Should Arya be with them_...by 'them', Galby is presumably meaning _Eragon and Saphira_. Even if he doesn't, he never specifies exactly who this 'them' is; he never mentions Roran anywhere. With the added factor of Roran, very technically this stricture can't apply—if Roran hadn't come, then yes, Arya would have to be taken. With Roran…nah.

As I said, technical! Very very very much indeed. Make sense? Yes? No? Tell me in a review!

**DragonRider2000**: -giggles- Galby-Schmalby finally receives a batch of well-deserved punishment. ARGH! We should form the Lynch Galby-Schmalby Club or something. I bet there woulds be tons of members.

Aw, don't be mean to your poor kitty? Trust me, there's nothing as creepy as a MS liker. CATS ARE PWNSOME!

**Carline**: Murtagh is very sad because you want to keep torturing him. He's going to commit suicide because of the sheer weight of grief.

Murtagh: -whimper-

SPLEE! You have a pet Shade? Aww! Boy or girl? Is it neutered/spayed? I mean, those things are really cutesome when they're little, but as soon as they grow up they try to cast magic spells and soon your house is haunted. And then they take on really lame names and mock the awesome dragons. And then Eragon comes up and stabs them through the chest. –sigh-

**Alsdssg**: Surprise, surprise :) Well, I did say if I got oh-so-many reviews I would update. But anyway, I doubt I'll be able to do this next week because the crushing weight of Real Life will return and shoot all my plot bunnies.

You can fairly much surmise what ol' Galby's gonna do, but I still have the fine details to work out. Rest assured, it shall be quite...evil. Spectacularly so. I hope, anyway.


	8. A Touch of Oblivion

**POOKA! POOKA POOKA POOKA! HOO HOO COO COO MOOOOOOOO!!! WE BE WIZA YOU BE DUMBA! VERI DANGER YOU PROVOKA! WAKAKAKAKA! **

**ZWEEEEEEEEE! YAAAAAAAAY.**

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_9/14/101_

Thorn stalked the woods, angrily snorting small puffs of flame as he swept along. For the umpteenth time, he tried to wake Murtagh up.

It was a harder challenge than it sounded. It wasn't that Murtagh wasn't _there_—Thorn could distinctly feel him; he could hear the faint murmuring that formed Murtagh's dreams. It was just that—no matter how Thorn tried, he couldn't wake the Rider up. No matter how he yelled and poked and pried, Murtagh stayed asleep.

Thorn ground his teeth, his tail lashing with angry impatience. _He should pick on me,_ he thought savagely, ripping up a clump of weeds. _Not on Murtagh. The pox-cursed, lice-ridden monster, why can't he leave Murtagh alone, why can't Murtagh use his common sense for once and choose the right way!_

Thorn hissed as soon as the thoughts formed, growling impatiently at the paradox they made. _I don't need a debate on good and evil!_ he yelled at the sky. _Why do things have to be so complicated?!_

There was a flutter of wings as birds exploded out of the brush, clearly seeking to get away from this strange red creature that kept on snorting flame. Thorn glared, his vermillion eyes alighting on the one bird that was either too stupid or too brave to go.

_What're you looking at?_ he snapped foul-temperedly, and ate it.

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"You, girl, get that tub. Try not to break it. Now, listen. Watch how we do this. It's a duchess's gown, all right, not some farmer's tunic. Be gentle with it—don't use that water; the nobles hate it if we reuse water for their precious ball gowns. _Warm_, girl! Warm! Not the yella soap, for this kind of dress, use the white. Are you listening to me? Girl! Stop daydreaming!"

Llynis flushed, switching directions in midair and reaching for the white soap instead. She ducked her head, trying to pen in her growing worry and frustration—nothing she was doing today was right. Already she had stained some earl's brown breeches by mixing it with black, and spilled a bucket of lye, and used too-hot water for the velvet and now the color had run...

Beside her, Corin cursed fluently and threw down her brush. "Stop!" she snapped, a look of harried condescension on her face. "You're all thumbs, aren't you, good-for-nothing girl? Get out of here. Go ask one of the women carting laundry upstairs if you can help _them_ instead. Surely you can carry a basket without breaking it." Corin shook her head, disdain in every move, clearly dismissing her.

Llynis fled upstairs, gulping in the cooler air that flowed up here. Biting her lip, she fought back tears—how could she have messed up so badly? She _needed_ this job, needed this position—_Orca_ needed to grow up, to be safe—

She scrubbed her eyes furiously with the back of her hand, swallowing down a hard lump in her throat. _I can do it,_ she thought, gritting her teeth. _I won't give up._

She turned around, prepared to ask one of the woman for a basket when an enormous roar made her jump. "Watch it, you maggot-rotted blind little minx!" a voice shrieked from behind her. Llynis leapt aside, barely avoiding being run down by a huge, towering woman bearing two baskets of laundry like iron-studded clubs. "Don't stand in the doorway! No sense at all!" the woman ranted, vanishing down the stairs.

Llynis bit her knuckle to keep from screaming. From outside, she could faintly hear the bells chime four—three more painful, excruciating hours before her shift was over.

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Galbatorix rubbed his eyes, yawning slightly as the sound of the bells reached him. Blearily, he peered at the silver timeglass at the end of the table—four o' clock in the afternoon, by the looks of it.

He leaned back, surveying his scattered notes. They were in cramped, cribbed handwriting, not his usual elegant script at all. With a sigh, Galbatorix set aside his quill and ink, placing them neatly into a small leather case.

Stacking his notes into a little pile, Galbatorix swept out of the room, his mind preoccupied with the task ahead. Perhaps he should try out a test subject first—after all, he could afford no mistakes when it came to Murtagh.

The idea caught his fancy. Well, why not? He could try it out on Reginus—the man was scheduled for execution, anyway, having tried to poison Galbatorix's dinner wine. If it worked, good—he'd execute him right after. If not, no loss. Reginus would die anyway.

Whistling slightly to himself, Galbatorix stepped deeper into the bowels of the palace.

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Reginus was a twit, Galbatorix decided. The man was blubbering at the edge of the wall, screaming things like, _"I didn't do it!_" and _"No, Master, don't kill me!" _Waah waah waah.

"Oh, _do_ shut up," Galbatorix said, annoyed. "I hate it when people go into hysterics."

Reginus stopped screaming, at least, but his face was still a mask of piteous sorrow when he looked up. "I didn't do it," he said, his voice hoarse. "Please, Lord—"

Galbatorix tsked slightly, stretching a thin tendril of power into Reginus's mind. The man fell silent, suddenly growing rigid. The only movement that could be seen was the widening horror in his eyes as Galbatorix advanced into his mind, and the muffled screams that shook his frame as he struggled to break free.

Galbatorix ignored all this, pushing deeper as he erased thoughts, rebuilt them, and generally reshaped Reginus's mind according to idle whim. Since Reginus was going to die anyway, there wasn't much of a point in being careful besides testing the limits for when he reformed Murtagh. Galbatorix shifted, melding Reginus carefully into a single, pointed direction. Once done, he pulled free.

Immediately, Reginus began to sing.

Galbatorix laughed until his sides hurt, leaning against the wall as he watched the caterwauling Reginus. He had remade Reginus to do exactly one thing—pour everything into singing "The Monk's Pleasure", a little popular bar ditty, regardless of his own well-being. Reginus slumped to the floor, the lines forced out in an off-key, resoundingly loud voice.

"_And then the maid got into bed/And what a night, a night he had!_" Reginus howled.

There wasn't any pained expression on his face, only a simple, gleeful joy. Reginus's one aim in life was to sing this song now—to sing onto starvation, to sing as he was being executed, even to sing it in his sleep, maybe, though it would be interesting to see how he was going to do _that_. Galbatorix took a moment to catch his breath, shaking his head with amusement. Success.

It wasn't physically or magically tiring, as the power behind the magic came from the Vault, anyway. But it did take a whole lot concentration to make sure that the wrong thing wasn't rubbed out or the wrong thought was implanted. Galbatorix blinked, feeling the start of a headache.

Maybe he should wait until tomorrow. It was a tricky operation, after all.

_No,_ Galbatorix decided finally. _I'll take a quick nap and do it tonight. Best not to put it off._

With one last amused glance at the warbling Reginus, Galbatorix exited the cell. On the way up, he had a small chat with the guards to set the date for execution.

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He set his internal clock to wake him when the bells rang six, but something ran amiss and he didn't wake up until nearly seven. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and feeling distinctly cross, Galbatorix sat up, surveying his bedroom like an irate owl.

_You're getting sloppy, my lad_, he chided himself, splashing his face with water from a basin at the foot of his bed. _Time was you'd wake at the chime and not a moment after. Perhaps the bells aren't loud enough...?_

Galbatorix shrugged, dismissing the matter from his mind. He would take care of the problem later, if he felt like it. Humming tunelessly, he picked up his notes and headed out the door.

How should he remake Murtagh? The challenge was exciting, irresistible. He had a problem: Murtagh was rebellious, too sassy for his own good. But how to solve it?

Choices, choices. Galbatorix nodded cordially to the guards that stood impassively at either side of the dungeon doors. Their faces blank, they moved aside. Whispering softly to the lock, he entered the prison.

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_Wake up_.

Murtagh groaned slightly, feeling himself drawn out of a deep abyss of darkness. Feebly, he tried to cling to that soothing peace—the calm, the quiet that meant the opposite of painful change. The force pulling him out faltered slightly, then forced him awake with a agonizing clarity.

"Wake up," the command came again. Murtagh, his eyes still sealed shut, fumbled to sit up. He was lying down, in a position of horrible vulnerability—instinctively, he wanted to get where he could have a chance to defend himself.

"Oh, stop flailing," a bored voice said. "Stay _still_."

An immeasurably powerful grip grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him flat against the stone floor. With a small gasp of shock, Murtagh forced his eyes open, struggling to see his attacker. Galbatorix, Galbatorix—a small voice in the back of his head taunted him over the growing din, chanting gleefully—_he's going to kill you!_

He struggled, fighting to throw off the weight pinning him down. Vaguely, as if from faraway, he could hear a voice rapping out blurred orders—each one of them added another link to his invisible chains, forcing him down to where Galbatorix could destroy him most.

Then everything exploded into a maelstrom of white, blinding white color that split into shards and reformed and tore into every inch of his being. Murtagh's mind exploded along with it, carried out into the edges of nothing—jagged, fragmented memories and thoughts and rationality streaked through the empty whiteness and vanished into the abyss beyond.

Fighting was impossible—how do you fight something that's not there? The conductor of this orchestra was out of sight, directing the pieces from somewhere beyond reach or touch. Murtagh's thoughts were scattered, thrown carelessly onto the ground, ripped apart, sewn into some grotesque costume and stuffed back in. Then again, he didn't know exactly what he was thinking anymore—everything was so, so strange, so disjointed, so..._broken_...

_Stop it!_ a voice screeched suddenly, echoing faintly and growing into a defeaning crescendo. The sound slammed into him, violent and harsh and destructive. _Galbatorix, stop it, you gods-be-damned bastard, get your filthy—_

The fragments of thought twisted sharply, thrown off course by this interference. Vaguely, Murtagh could hear a frustrated yell, and then a sharp cry of pain as the new voice was forced down, crushed into silence.

Weakly, Murtagh tried to help that voice, to shield it—but somehow, his limbs wouldn't move. He felt disconnected, somehow, and it was as if he was just a shadow, a spirit floating on the ether.

Nothing made sense anymore. Why did he want to help this voice again? Who...who was this voice, anyway? What did they want of him? What was going...what was going on?

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**-mew- A cliffie? You know, I think this chapter sucks. Like, really, really sucks. I hate it; it's dead boring and did I mention that I think it sucks? I've tried to edit it best as I could; I've added about a page more than there was in the original draft, but I still hate it.**

**Meh. Anyhoo. Since I have nothing to do tomorrow except eat cookies, I'll try my vewy vewy best to get a chappie up for Sunday. I've already got it all planned out—major Llynis/Galbatorix, and while there's nothing from Murtagh's POV he's also in it. And of course, please review. Because I'll be sad if you don't. –puppy eyes-**

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**Pinatas and pie and radishes. Yayness.**

**Namine3419**: Nah, Murtagh won't drool. I won't let him; his hotness would be majorly ruined if he did. MURTAGH! SPLEE! –snuggles- Even though I keep messing up his life, I'm in love with him and he's _not even real..._

Karma will come one day and kick Arya from one end of Alagaesia to another. DIE, MARY SUE! BWAHAAA!!!!

**Sun: **-blinks- Oh, dear. I've tried to make Llynis as un-Mary-sue-like as possible, and I've sworn that she and Murtagh will never get together. Is there any way I can change her character, sort of?

Yeah, I know the feeling. I have yet to find a single fic featuring Galby's _son_. They're always daughters who run away to the Varden or something like that. Tis most monotonous.

**DragonRider2000**: I _know!_ If Eragon and Murtagh are supposed to be brothers, why in the world of crap does Eragon have _blond_ hair and Murtagh have _black_??? Okay, so Garrett Hedlund looks hot with spiky black hair. But still. The guy who plays Eragon looks like a _dork_. I'm sorry, he does. Especially in that vest-y costume and all. I'm reeling with righteous fury, how could they pick a BLOND to play a BRUNET ERAGON??!!!!

No offense to those folks who are blonds, of course. I know some great people who are blonds who aren't airheads or whatever in any way, shape, or form. I'm just saying, why couldn't they at least pick the right actors to fit the right profiles? It drives me nuts.

**Ariel32**: Yes, I noticed. I looked at it and was thinking, what, did Saphira bite you or something because that is definitely NOT silvery. Eragon is called _Argetlam_; you'd think they'd want to make something as definitive as the gedwey ignasia an actual silver oval. But no.

Tsk. –mutters under breath- Anyway, feel not ashamed of sugar insanity. Tis a common ailment that afflicts many of all ages. –coughs pointedly-

**Fredsonetrueluv**: Hmm. I wasn't really considering anything 'ancestry-ish' for Orca, but that could be interesting. I'll leave it blank for now. Nah, Derek's not…gonna…be…no, scratch that statement. HMM. Vewy interesting. I'll have to think about it because suddenly all these alternate plotlines are opening up before mine eyes.

**Carline**: Ha! You thinkest you can scare me with yon Shade? NOO! I have a Murtagh to protect me. Hahahaha! Since Murtagh's half-brother killed your Shade's cousin (or whatever), I think I have a pretty fair guardian here. Even against the pink bunnies of doom. GO DESTROY THEM, MURTY!

Murtagh: Make me.

Me: What?!

Murtagh: I hope you get eaten, you cruel ff writer.

Me: -shifty eyes- Heh heh heh...he was just joking, of course. Excuse me.

Murtagh: What're you…ARGH! MURDER! HELP—

-silence-

**Alsdssg**: Yep, well, Trisi's a fairly minor character, but I still had fun making up all that gossip for her. I'll bring her back in at one point or another to annoy the living crap out of Llynis—and Murtagh, of course, because you always need somebody to keep the canon characters in check. Although I think there's already somebody to annoy Murtagh out of his wits...

**Vlack-Talon**: ARGH! NOT ANOTHER ONE! Okay, so I don't keep language in check. –cowers- Tis my most major failing, I KNOW!! DON'T RUB IT IN! I don't know if Alagaesian characters use the word 'bastard' either, but since it means an illegitimate child even if you're not trying to insult anybody, I think it would be allowable.

**Dark Seroph**: I saw in one of the trailers something said along the lines of, "The first chapter in the Inheritance Trilogy." What, are they going to do _Eldest_ and _Empire_ in movie format, too? If not, I'm seriously wondering how they're going to end the movie, because you can't just have one pathetic battle without Galby even being present and manage to overthrow the empire that way. But if they _do_ make the other books into movies, well, that's kind of risky, considering that you don't even know if the first one will be a success...

**Dreamgirlhoo**: OMG! OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHMMYYYYYGOOOOODDDDD!!! –squeal squeal snort snort- I LYK T0TALLY PWN UR REVIEW! OMG! OMG!!!!

_That's_ the way you whine ingratiatingly! –nods wisely- Be sure to jump up and down and wave your arms and generally screech like a nitwit. **LYK, OMG!**

Stupidity aside...let us now return to the real world. –nods piously-

**Coffee Grounds**: -glares pointedly- A_HeM_. Update your stories or else I'll send all these plot bunnies that people are sending to me after _you_. Believe me, there are plenty. Or else chocolate does the trick quite nicely. Remember, kids—RANDOMNESS IS HAPPINESSS. YAYYYYYYYYYY.

I live in Taiwan, which is an island near China. So yeah, I live in a totally different time zone from the U.S. and Canada. Like, 9-13 hours worth of difference depending on where you live in the States. Which sucks. But what the crap.

Have some pity for Llynis. The poor lass's had a sucky life and will have an even suckier life if I get my way. I TORTURE MY CHARACTERS! AND I'M NOT ASHAMED OF IT! BWAHAHA! HAAHAHAHAAAAA –chokes on spit- ARRRG_GGGGGgggh_…

**RRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEVVVVVVVVVIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW. REEEEEVVVVIIIEEEEWWWWW…**

**REVIEW!!!**


	9. Triumph and Defeat

**-insert random comment here-**

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_9/14/101_

Llynis nearly collapsed upon hearing that wonderful, wonderful chime of the bells signaling the end of the seventh hour. Setting down her last load of laundry, she stretched discreetly, wincing at the soreness in her neck and arms and shoulders and general bodily area.

Uncertainly, she looked around for Corin. Could she just go now? Or did she have to report in? Biting her lip, Llynis looked for a familiar face—Trisi, Rosara, Corin—whoever, just somebody who could tell her what to do.

"There you are," Corin said suddenly, materializing at her elbow. Llynis jumped, staring wildly at Corin. The woman gave her a disapproving glance and said sharply, "Don't be like a mouse, girl. Have some initiative."

"I'm sorry," Llynis began weakly, but Corin was already charging on over her. In a flat, rapid monotone, the woman explained how to clock in and out of shifts, where to put the apron. The uniform was Llynis's to keep, but gloves and such were to be returned to the storage closet. Llynis kept her mouth shut and nodded, hiding her trembling hands in her pockets.

_The woman _hates_ me,_ she realized dismally, watching Corin's mouth twist in sour distaste. _Why?_

As if Corin could read Llynis's thoughts, the woman paused and said coldly, "You've made a mess of yourself today, girl. You keep this up, you'll be out of a job. Now get out of the laundry."

With a critical sniff, Corin swept away. Miserably, Llynis climbed up the stairs out of the laundry, feeling as if she had been thoroughly pounded. Swallowing back a lump in her throat, she looked around for—

_Orca!_

Llynis looked around wildly, her imagination kicking into overtime. Where was she? Where was Orca? Oh, gods, she hadn't told Orca when to be back, had she? Orca could be anywhere by now. Men could've taken her, could be ravaging her right now. She was just a little girl, she didn't deserve any of this, where was Orca _where was she?_

"Orca!" Llynis screamed as ghastly images streaked through her mind, hysteria clawing its way up her stomach. "Orca, where are you, come on, Orca? Come out, come out—"

Bundling up her skirts in one hand, Llynis fled down the hall, screaming Orca's name. Passing servants quickly got out of her way, not wanting to mess with this frenzied woman who had clearly gone insane.

Llynis ignored them all, tears blinding her vision. "Orca!" she screamed, shoving past servants, searching frantically in every nook and cranny as if Orca might be hiding in a box. Some buried part of her mind knew that she was being irrational, but she couldn't stop—not when Orca might be suffering, might be _raped_, might be—

"Watch it!"

A hand grabbed her arm, shaking her hard. Llynis shuddered to a halt, staring feverishly into her captor's face. It was a man. A _man_ holding her, trying to keep her away from Orca. "Get away from me," she said shakily. Her voice rising to a shriek, Llynis cried, "Don't touch me!"

"I don't want to touch you," the man said, dropping her arm. "You're making a ruckus." He frowned, squinting at her. "Say, I know you, don't I? We talked earlier—you wanted to find Rosara, remember?"

Llynis gaped at him for a moment before finding her voice. "Yes," she whispered finally, feeling lost. "Who—who—"

"I'm Derek Talson," the man said, holding out a hand. When she didn't move, he grimaced and lowered it. "Whatever. Look, who's Orca? Why are you screaming? For that matter, why are you running around crying?" Groping in his pockets, he pulled out a handkerchief. "You're really quite a mouse, aren't you? Scared of your own shadow."

Llynis accepted the handkerchief with shaking fingers, blotting her tears clumsily. Finally, in a very faint voice, she said, "Orca's my—my daughter. She's gone. I can't find her. I don't know where she is, she could be anywhere, or—"

"I get the idea," Derek interrupted, holding up a hand. "When did you last see her?"

Llynis scrubbed angrily at her face. "At the start of my shift," she mumbled. "I told her to stay—to stay in the working parts of the palace, so that she wouldn't—I was _careless!_" Llynis gasped. "I should've kept her near me, not let her wander around—"

"All _right!_" Derek said impatiently. "Don't go all hysterical again. Calm down. What's your name, anyway?"

"I'm—I'm Llynis," Llynis said weakly. "Llynis Eisadatir."

"Llynis," Derek said slowly, as if tasting her name. "All right. Llynis, first thing, calm down. I'll send word out. There're a couple of people around her that're real gossips; everybody will know about Orca within the hour. I swear. How old is she? Four? Brown hair?"

"Five," Llynis said. "A—a small five."

"Five." Derek paused, looking at her thoughtfully. "Look, Llynis, don't worry. There aren't any five-year-olds around here except Orca. We'll find her in no time. Wait here."

Llynis swayed as Derek walked off, her knees suddenly weakening underneath her. Feeling suddenly faint, she staggered to the wall, sliding down into a heap.

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Derek proved as good as his word. As he explained to Llynis in a low voice, the palace had a simple and surprisingly accurate method of communication—anytime there was news to be spread or known, you would tell a certain group of men and women (that, rather unsurprisingly also included Trisi), who would then pass the news on.

By the time the clock struck the quarter hour, it seemed that the whole palace knew. Llynis got up from her seat by the wall, forcing her knees to move as she wandered through the halls, watching the servants go by murmuring softly to each other and casting anxious looks at her.

"They're looking," Derek reassured her. "Anybody finds her, we'll know."

Llynis glanced nervously at him and away. Derek didn't seem to want to make any advances onto her, but that meant nothing. Still, though, why was he helping her _unless_ he wanted her to have sex with him? It didn't make sense. Briefly, Llynis almost wished that she was still a slave—at least, then, the men were predictable. They raped you if they saw you, so you stayed out of their way.

A shudder went through her, and she shoved the thought away. No, she didn't want that. None of that. She was free now, with another chance in her lap, and she wasn't going to ruin it.

_Just let me have Orca back,_ she vowed silently to whatever god happened to be listening. _Let me have Orca. Please._

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Still, in the end, nobody found Orca. Orca found them. Wandering hopelessly down the umpteenth disused stretch of corridor, Llynis suddenly heard a yell from where she and Derek had branched off—"I found her!"

Her heart jumping to a hundred beats per minute, Llynis sprinted back down the hall. "_ORCA!_" she shrieked, slamming into the girl, yanking her up, and spinning around in the air. "Orca, I'm so glad you're all right, _never never never _worry me like that again..."

Orca bore this all patiently, wearing a slightly confused expression on her face. When Llynis finally set her down, Orca pulled on Llynis's skirts, tugging her forward.

"What?" Llynis asked, breathlessly confused.

Orca stopped, glancing back at her. Even though she still said absolutely nothing, her posture was clear enough—_follow me_.

"Come on," Derek murmured, touching Llynis lightly on the shoulder. She stared at him, then swallowed. "What? It won't do any harm."

Llynis jerked away from his touch, hovering over Orca protectively. Finally, she said, "Okay, let's go. What's going on, Orca?"

Orca shrugged and walked down the hall, trailing Derek and Llynis behind her. At the end, she stopped, facing the wall, looking up at Llynis expectantly.

"It's a wall," Llynis said uncertainly. "Orca, what're you trying to do—"

She choked on the last word, blinked, and rubbed her eyes incredulously as Orca reached forward, actually putting her arm _into_ the wall. Beside her, Derek made a strangled noise as Orca continued forward, stepping into the wall and vanishing.

"Oh, gods," Llynis breathed, staring at the blank gray stretch of wall. It was _bouncing_, and Orca had just walked right through it. This couldn't be. It had to be a joke, or, a, uh, hallucination, or, uh, uhhhhmmmm...

Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward just as Orca had done, half-expecting to slam into some filthy palace wall or else wake up from a bad, bad dream. Neither happened—there was a panicky moment as she was trapped in the very strange _bouncy_ wall, and then she was through. A second later, Derek plunged in after her, looking stunned.

"Oh..." was the only sound in the room for quite a while as Llynis and Derek stared. It was a small room, but very comfortable. There were scrollshelves lining three walls, a small chest in a corner, a table or two scattered around with comfortable pillows on them. Llynis gaped, open-mouthed, at the _strangeness_ of the place.

She felt a tug on her skirt and looked down. Orca looked solemnly up at her, one hand on her dress, the other pointing to something on the ground. It was vaguely elliptical, green, and shiny.

Llynis touched it gingerly. It felt smooth, the surface a beautiful, glowing viridian shot through with palest white. It was cool under her fingers, and slippery. Llynis picked it up experimentally—it was lighter than she would've expected.

"What're you doing?" Derek hissed, coming over. "If they've got some sort of, I don't know, thief magick in here—"

Llynis hastily set the stone back on the ground. "I didn't want to take it," she murmured softly, watching as Orca gravely patted the rock.

"Well, I should hope not," Derek muttered. "Whoever keeps this place definitely went to some trouble to make it secret. Inside a wall? I wonder how Orca picked up on that." He frowned, anxiety knitting his face. "Llynis, come on, let's go."

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_Stupid! _Galbatorix raged, freeing himself from Murtagh's mind with a sharp, vicious jerk. _Careless! Sloppy! When I get my hands on that godsdamned dragon, it'll wish it never _hatched_—_

Swearing viciously to himself, Galbatorix produced a small weirlight, bending close to see the damage. Murtagh lay unconscious in the middle of the floor, the only indication of life being the shallow rise of his chest as he breathed.

Galbatorix cursed again, stifling the urge to throw something. Something had gone wrong. Very, very wrong. The dragon's interruption had distracted him for a few vital seconds, caused him to move carelessly and do gods-knew-how-much damage in the process—

"Maggot-infested pox-winged beast!" Galbatorix shrieked at the walls. "Because of you, your precious Rider most likely won't be able to wake up, to sit, to do anything, and I will _have your head!_"

The maggot-infested pox-winged beast didn't answer, most likely because Galbatorix had forced it into unconsciousness. Galbatorix hissed sharply between his teeth, clenching and unclenching his hands as fury raged through his veins, a red haze overlapping everything. Inside his mind, the dim flow of voices that had long been stifled broke free, sensing the opportunity.

That brought him back to reality. The voices were an unpleasant price to pay in exchange for power, and madness lay in store for those who couldn't control them. _Of course, I'm mad already_, Galbatorix reflected darkly. _Make that furious. Enraged!_

A low moan sounded, shaking him to the very core of his being. Galbatorix gritted his teeth—Shruikan, of course. _You filthy creature, be quiet!_ he snapped.

He shook his head furiously, forcing himself to breathe. To calm down. Once he felt that he could work without wrecking things, he bent down, touching Murtagh's forehead with long, cold fingers.

_Talk to me_, he coaxed, speaking not to Murtagh but to the unconscious rhythm that lay underneath. _Brikijae Knivarya. What has become of you?_

There was nothing for a long, long moment, and Galbatorix began to think that Murtagh's mind had completely and truly been destroyed. In that case, all was lost—he'd wanted to remold Murtagh, sure, but he couldn't do that if there was _nothing to remold_. Gritting his teeth, he repeated the command. _Tell me!_

Very faintly, an answer came.

The unconscious mind didn't use words—more like jumbled feelings, images, and sensations. A thin trickle of these came into Galbatorix now, patchy and broken. He let it wind on for a good while before finally severing the connection, leaning back. Drumming his fingers on the floor, he replayed them, thinking it over. What was Murtagh good for now?

Murtagh had lost parts of his memory, and what was there was fragmented and broken, the timelines all mixed up. Motor functions seemed to be intact, as far as Galbatorix could tell, although he wouldn't know for sure until Murtagh woke up.

And what about his thoughts? His personality? His _being_? Something had shifted, something that wasn't easily defined. Something vital in his perception of the world...

Maybe not everything was lost.

Galbatorix exhaled, a weight falling from his chest. He would let Murtagh's body rest for a few days before forcing him awake—that would give him more than enough time to deal with the matter of the dragon.

And then after that?

A slow grin crept across Galbatorix's face, and he laughed softly. _I'll see you when you wake,_ he thought almost affectionately at the unconscious Rider before walking out of the dungeon.

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**Mmm.**

**I'm very happy with the way this chapter has turned out. The next chapter will pick up about a week later, I'd guess. Or not. I don't know if I should insert in something from Thorn's POV in between, whaddaya think? **

**K' now. Don't forget to review :)**

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**BlindSeer220**: Yep, poor Thorny, trying to defend his Rider and getting ripped by Evil Galby. Nooo!

Correction—MY THORN! MINE! YEAH! My Thorn's the cutest. Muahaha.

**Zenna**: Myyyy preeecccciioousss—ahem, I mean, um, nothing. Wait, art thouest implying that Llynis and Murtagh will get together? Because they **won't!** They won't! They can't! WAAAHH!!

No, seriously they won't. That's one promise I intend to keep. So, nah, Murtagh will have to suffer alone. WON'T THAT BE FUN? ZWEE!

**Ariel32**: Murtagh's not going to get his own POV until next...chapter...I...think. I'm not sure, because next chapter a certain something is going to hatch out of a certain something. –cough- Not that I know anything about it, of course.

I try to get at least four or five pages in Verdana size 9 per chapter. Don't always make it, though. XP This one is about five-ish or so, long enough?

**Fredsonetrueluv**: Dragons have a history of eating random animals who have the misfortune to get in their way. Tis one of their few failings. Sad, but true.

I'm going to have fun messing with Murtagh's character now. MmmHMMmmm. I have the plot planned out and I know exactly how I'm gonna do it and it's gonna be fuuuunn. Yay. No torture scenes planned in the near future, except for maybe Thorn if I feel like it.

**Dark Seroph**: I've never really gotten the point of Chinese Water Torture. Okay, as far as I know, it consists of dripping water on somebody and waiting for them to go nuts. It seems rather...uncertain or something. If you wanted to torture em', why don't you just stick them in the rack and get it over with?

ARRGH. Yeah, I have to agree. But hey, I'll go and watch the movie anyway...and cry afterwards...even if they do rip the book apart. Curiosity killed the cat, after all.

**Dreamgirlhoo**: -nods approvingly- Wonderful. Excellent job, ol' chap. Although, you might want to crank up the idiocy factor a tiny bit.

**Carline**: No, I wouldn't kill Murtagh. I can't, anyhow, not this early into the story. And yeah, I don't mind, since I think last chapter was one of the dullest chapters in this fic so far. This one's better, at least in my opinion.

**DragonRider2000**: Oh, my god. I just realized that Eragon's sword has a sapphire. Wow. Wow wowowowow. I can't believe they couldn't be bothered to fix tiny details like that in their rush to waste a couple million bucks into a totally inaccurate movie. And _featherrrss???_ How is that possible? How could they give Saphira feathers? She's not a bird, she's a dragon! ARRGGH!

Okay, okay, I know last chapter sucked. Don't rub it in. And Galby messes with Murtagh's brain cuz he's sick of Murtagh trying to rebel against him. If you want to fix a problem, start at the source.

**Alsdssg**: I've got a luverly evil plan for what'll happen to Murtagh when he wakes...okay, I lied, I don't. So sue me. It's not evil at all. Galbatorix will be...um...too distracted to be evil when the time rolls around.


	10. Revealed

**-mew-**

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_9/21/101_

Galbatorix sat in the calm silence of his little cubbyhole, absently turning a quill over and over in his fingers. Staring into the distance, Galbatorix was taking a nice quiet moment in the hectic insanity that was his life.

Not that he was complaining, of course. It had been a good week, in more ways than one. A new battalion of men had been recruited, and the general reported that they were being whipped up quite nicely into soldiers. A new shipment of Seithr oil had just reached Dras-Leona (and Helgrind, by extension), and the Ra'zac had finally stopped whining about their escaped "food supply" with their replacements. Best of all, he'd manage to teach a certain errant dragon and Rider who held the power around here, and oversee the execution of a whimpering traitor.

_If only all weeks could be as wonderful as this one,_ Galbatorix thought dreamily. _Peace, prosperity, and happiness for all..._

_Thump_.

Galbatorix looked up, startled, a quizzical frown forming on his face. He scanned the room both mentally and physically, but there was nobody there. Besides, he'd spelled the wall closed when he'd entered.

Shrugging, he turned back to his contemplations. Perhaps it was time to awake Murtagh, see just how much damage had happened. If his calculations were correct, they wouldn't be anything particularly life-threatening—just little technicalities to do with his personality and ethics, which was absolutely perfect. If he just—

_Thump_.

Galbatorix half-stood now, staring around the room. "Come out," he said in a slow, measured voice, his eyes sweeping the walls. "Whoever you are. _Wherever_ you ar—"

_Thump_.

It came from behind him. Quickly, Galbatorix turned, dark eyes searching the scene. There was nobody there, nothing that could've made the thump and run away. Galbatorix pursed his lips, puzzled. _I sense nobody_, he thought slowly. _So who could it have..._

A soft crack split the air, and Galbatorix's eyes traveled very, very slowly to the source of this latest sound. He blinked, insane disbelief and triumph mingling inside of him as he stepped forward.

"How is this possible?" Galbatorix whispered softly, watching another crack in the surface of the egg appear. "Nobody has touched you...have they?"

The egg, being an egg, didn't answer. Galbatorix bent down, his breath catching in his throat as a piece of the shell broke away, tumbling to the floor. From the gap, a tiny green head poked out.

Dragon and human looked at each other for a long moment. For that period of time, Galbatorix felt hushed, almost awed of the legacy and fates that this tiny little creature would bring about. How much hedged on it, and the Rider it belonged to...

"So tell me," he murmured quietly. "Who touched you? Who made you hatch?"

The dragon squeaked, and with a clumsy shove, forced itself out of its egg. It tumbled to the ground and yelped, shaking away the membrane that clung to it. Squeaking agitatedly, it stumbled around the room on wobbly legs.

Quickly, Galbatorix picked it up and pulled the both of them through the wall. The dragon hissed, fighting to break free—he wasn't the Rider it sought, and they both knew it. Dropping to the floor, it stumbled forward, seeking the person who had called it to hatch.

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Llynis collapsed into a chair, feeling (not for the first time) as if a team of horses had run over her. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her sleeve up gingerly to reveal a stretching line of bruises that ran from shoulder to elbow.

"Please, not now," she murmured wearily as Orca nudged her. "I know you're hungry, Orca, and I'll get you something to eat. Just a moment. I want just one moment to sit back and not be hit by laundry baskets, yelled at by laundresses, or scolded by Corin..."

Orca regarded her gravely, then nodded. Llynis stared at that solemn, strangely understanding face and felt her resolve crumble. Lurching to her feet, she sighed. "All right. Come on, Orca."

Splashing some water on her face from a bucket in the corner, Llynis straightened her shoulders. Taking Orca's hand in her right, she put her left hand on the doorknob and swung the door open.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!_"

Llynis jumped back with a shriek, yanking Orca back with her. There was a _man_ in front of the door, one hand frozen in a knocking position and eyes wide with shock. There was a choked gulp as they blinked at each other, and then Llynis gasped, "What're you doing here?"

Derek stood in the doorway, an expression of tense surprise on his face. "I didn't know people could scream that loud," he managed finally, his voice breathless and high-pitched.

"You frightened me," Llynis said uneasily, moving away from the door, preparing to slam it shut. "What do you want?"

Derek's expression turned decidedly uncomfortable as he jammed his hands into his pockets. He was off-shift, like her, and had changed the palace uniform for a light brown tunic and breeches. "I just—" he said hesitantly, then sighed. "I just wanted to see how you're doing. I mean, I didn't think you would be so scared or anything—"

Llynis gaped at him. In the uneasy silence that followed, thoughts tumbled around and around in her head. What did he want? Was he a friend, or foe, or just a nosy busybody? Her experience of men had never been good, but he—well, Derek didn't seem to fit the profiles of men she knew. He wasn't burly, he hadn't hit her yet, he seemed more uncomfortable than anything...

"Sorry," she heard him saying. Startled, Llynis glanced at him, and he ducked his head. Swallowing, he continued. "I suppose—I suppose you're all right now, and so you don't need—I mean, I didn't need to come here. You've settled into the palace, right, and so I don't—I mean—"

He trailed off into silence. Llynis opened her mouth and then shut it again, uncertain of what to say. Studying Derek carefully, she sighed. "I don't know."

He offered an uneasy smile. "Would you like to—to—I mean, I've noticed you always eat alone. Come sit with me and some of the people I know—it's friendlier when there's a crowd."

_People? Other people?_ Derek was waiting for a response, an expression of half-hope, half-annoyance on his face. What would he say if she said no? Would the mask finally fall away to reveal just another monster? Or would he nod and accept her choice?

"Maybe not today," she said at last. Edging away from the door, she prepared to slam it if he became violent or jumped at her.

Derek did neither of these things, his face cycling through a storm of emotions before turning perfectly blank. Aside from the blush. "All right," he said, a mottled red flushing his face. "Okay."

He mustered a weak smile, directing it at Orca. "Take care of her."

Not meeting Llynis's gaze again, he hurried back down the hall.

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Llynis stood staring after him, feeling helplessly stupid and rude. It was obvious that Derek wanted to talk to her—she just didn't know _why_, or what his true motives were. Did he want what she once thought that all men wanted—sex? Or was there something more?

_Strange_.

"Come on, Orca," she murmured softly, closing the door behind them. The little girl nodded and followed obediently, toddling behind Llynis silently. About to lock the door, Llynis heard a tiny squeak off in the distance, followed by footsteps.

Panic streaked through her veins as the footsteps got louder, got _closer_. Llynis's imagination, already whirling with Derek's invitation, exploded into a vast new array of possibilities at the approaching sound. Frozen, she stared at the direction of the footsteps, her fear compounded by the fact that the man the footsteps belonged to was tall, large, and eerily handsome...exactly the kind of men she used to belong to...

He smiled distantly at her and made as to pass her by when a squeak by his feet stopped him. Llynis's gaze traveling slowly downwards, she saw a tiny little green creature eyeing her speculatively. Her throat dry with hysteria, Llynis backed up against the wall as it smiled, showing sharp little teeth as it edged closer and closer—

And then it _touched_ her, and Llynis could feel herself tingling, hair raising on her skin as a sharp fire rang from the place of contact. Before she could do anything, another sensation, far more familiar, forced itself onto her—the man was touching her, his fingers seeking to pry and maim and force himself into her...with a soft shriek, she tried to fight, but for some reason she couldn't move—

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_You_.

Fire. Fire and ice raged inside her, pushing upwards in a torrent that begged for release. She closed her eyes, hearing a sharp, animal scream slice the air, a vibrant burning inside her veins...

...but when it was over, a calm, content acknowledgement came from the other end—a wave of peace coming from the dragon, knowing that it had found its Rider at last. Letting out a shaky breath and opening her eyes, she smiled faintly, setting a hand on the dragon's scaly head.

The man was shocked, she could see that. "How...?" he said, his mouth working. "Tell me. How did you find the egg?"

Orca gave a small smile as the dragon nestled itself into her arms. It whimpered softly, hunger in its foremost thoughts, looking up at her with soulful green eyes.

The man seemed to notice. Clearing his throat, he hoisted Aunt Llynis gently—she had fainted right into his arms when the dragon first touched her. "I suppose it's hungry," he said at last, getting over his surprise. "And I bet you are, too." With a grunt, he hoisted Aunt Llynis over his shoulder. "Come. I'll wake your mother up, and then we'll get something to eat."

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**Show of hands—how many of you _really thought_ that Orca would be the third Rider? I tried my very best to make Llynis the "obvious" candidate—how many of you guys fell for it? Be honest! I won't laugh.**

**So, what happens to Llynis now? I have a couple ideas, involving a certain somebody who got turned down for a date –cough- Derek –cough-, as well as a few other fiddly ideas including ol' Murty (when he gets outta his dungeon, that is). I STAND BY WHAT I SAID: THERE. WILL. BE. NO. ROMANCE. BETWEEN. LLYNIS. AND. MURTAGH!!!! I'm serious about this. **

**And yay—the movie comes out t'day! I'm gonna go watch it t'morrow cuz the parentals have work till late tonight. Sat-ur-day, I luvvvvvss Sat-ur-day! Yay yayayayayayyyyyyy. **

**I'll try my vewy best to update for Sunday. I'm figuring since that there can only be a few more months until CP's book comes out, I'd better update at least twice a week in order to get this ff done in time. But no guarantees—I have Real Life to deal with and a Chinese test on Monday.**

**No Murtagh this chappie, but I swear I'll bring him back next chapter. I SWEAR! I know this chapter was abnormally short, too, and the next one twill' be at least five pages. Happy? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? Jeesh…-mutters about demanding reviewers-**

**Meesa will quits babbling now. Here r ur rev1ew reponzes.**

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Okay, I lied. I'm sorry.

I have a tendency to write the chapter first (w/ free a/n's!) and do the responses later, generally Friday night. But wow. It's Friday night right now at about 11:23 p.m. (live in Taiwan, remember) and I'm zoned out—I've just spend the past couple hours gorging on X-Files, and I can hardly think straight right now (past images of creepy flying people and E.T. aliens, of course). But still, I want to post this chapter tonight...

I'll do rr's next time, I promise. I'm just kinda sleepy...

-yawn- Review...please?


	11. Revitalization, Deception and Invention

**ARGGGGGGGGGHHHHHK.**

**As of writing this AN right now, I am writhing in pure misery. The movie SUCKS, okay? It sucks so badly that I almost cried from sheer pain at the end of it. They wasted all those millions of dollars to make some fancy piece of dramatic crap that doesn't fit the book _at all_.**

**Anyway, I won't rant about it too much because I don't want to give it away for those who haven't seen it. Suffice to say, it is really, really rushed—and as a result, very, very bad. A lot of minor characters have been cut out, and Murtagh—ARGH, Murtagh has about five minutes of screen time and that's about it.**

**On with the chapter. Btw, Orca's the third Rider, not Llynis. . A lot of people seem to be confused…**

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Llynis huddled in a chair, bewilderedly staring around the room with the air of a cornered cat. Biting her lip, she sneaked a furtive look at the creepily handsome man who lounged in on a pile of cushions like he belonged here. Which he did, probably.

_This is _his_ room,_ she thought with increasing dread, staring around. She was in the middle of the secret room she and Derek had found earlier, with Orca sitting to her right. _Will he kill us for trespassing?_

The man cleared his throat softly, and Llynis jumped in surprise. He looked at her calmly, understandingly—looking into his eyes, Llynis felt her fear dissipate. He was so wise, so benevolent—how could he possibly hurt her or Orca?

"So," he said in a gentle, melodious voice. "Don't be afraid, Llynis. I won't hurt you."

How did he know her name...oh well, that didn't matter. Llynis found herself relaxing, gaining an instinctive trust towards him. How could she have ever thought he'd rape her? She didn't know _who_ he was, but he wouldn't hurt her...

There was a small scratching sound to her right, and the two of them turned as one. Sitting on a pile of rugs, Orca studiously ignored them both as she held a strip of meat in her fingers. Curled in her lap was the tiny green dragon, wings flared as it begged for the meat.

"How...?" Llynis asked softly, watching her. Lowering her eyes with a blush, she murmured, "If it's not too bold to ask, my lord..."

He laid a hand over hers, and Llynis felt a shiver run up her spine at the touch. Smiling shyly at him, she self-consciously tucked her hair behind her ear with her free hand. She was all too aware of his gaze upon her—mild, curious, and infinitely kind.

"Don't be afraid to ask questions," he said quietly. "You came in here, didn't you? Both of you. No, I'm not angry, my dear...I'm very pleased, actually." His fingers brushed her chin, and involuntarily she looked up. "Evidently, Orca touched the egg, and thus it hatched."

Llynis swallowed, shaking her head. A pleasant numbness was settling over her, making it hard to think—with an effort, she said slowly, "So she's now a...a..."

"A dragon Rider," he completed for her, smiling slowly.

Llynis turned, her eyes settling on Orca. After a long, agonizing pause, the child looked up and met her gaze squarely. In her lap, the dragon was asleep.

"A dragon Rider," Llynis repeated faintly, her head spinning. "Orca's a..."

"Don't fret your pretty head about it," the man said, patting her cheek indulgently. "No harm will come to the child, I assure you." His voice was soothing, hypnotic—"Nothing can go wrong now. Come. Sleep, now."

So Llynis did.

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The woman was completely under his power, slumped peacefully in his hands with a slightly vacant expression on her face as she slept. Galbatorix laughed quietly, tracing the lines of her face—she wasn't overly pretty, but not too bad-looking either. Still, she had another, more useful purpose besides sex—she could take care of his newest Rider, watching to make sure she was trained properly...

Speaking of the newest Rider, Galbatorix turned slightly to look inquiringly at the girl—Orca. She didn't look up at him, running her thumb over and over the dragon's head.

Laying Llynis down on the cushions, he walked carefully over to where Orca sat. She didn't seem to know he was there, staring distantly at the wall, not moving even when he tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"Orca?" he said gently.

The dragon in her arms opened a sleepy eye and burped, but otherwise there was no response. Miffed, Galbatorix tried again, adopting a firmer tone. "Orca. Look at me."

Still nothing. Galbatorix sighed, rubbing his forehead, finding himself praying to any nonexistent gods out there that he wouldn't be trapped with _two_ rebellious Riders instead of one.

"Orca, I have some business to take care of," he said, enunciating clearly. "I will be back soon. Don't touch anything, all right?"

He might as well been talking about the weather for all the response he got. Galbatorix's mouth twisted slightly with displeasure—he couldn't go down to handle Murtagh if he wasn't _absolutely sure_ that the girl wouldn't accidentally set off some of the more delicate objects in the room...but neither did he want to spend the better part of the day babysitting her.

Maybe he could combine both roles. After all, if Murtagh had changed in the way he predicted, a good first impression would be very important.

Unmagicking the door briefly, he headed out to tell a nearby soldier to bring Murtagh up from the dungeons.

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Orca was aware that the man left, but she wasn't particularly interested. Far more important was the dragon, and Orca was idly running names through her mind.

Names were important, she knew that. Names were a mark of respect, of—of _being_. Aunt Llynis had a name. She had a name. The man didn't have a name, but who said he was somebody to respect? She didn't know him.

The trouble was, she didn't know that many names. With a frown, Orca ran all the names she'd ever known through her mind—Aunt Llynis. Orca. Amarine. Sussy. Arin. Pollia. Maynil.

None of them fit. With a sigh, Orca laid her cheek against the dragon's scaly back. Maybe if she combined some names? Llyca. Llyline. Omarine. Sarin, Sullia, Parissy, Sunil. No, but none of those worked either.

Curiosity came from the dragon as it sat up, eyes bright and inquisitive. It wanted to know about what she was thinking—what was a _name_? What were those strange sounds she was thinking?

Orca hesitated, trying her best to explain just what a _name_ was. The dragon cocked its head, considering, silently demanding more sounds to play with.

_Aris. Mussy. Llyris. Inllia. Maynis._

No. No.

_Ariya. Pollin. Mamarca. Surin. Anil._

Anil?

_Anil?_

The dragon gurgled softly with satisfaction, bracing its talons on her arm. Yes. Anil.

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With a grunt, Galbatorix slid back into the room with an unconscious Murtagh hoisted over his shoulder, somewhat relieved to see that nothing had been destroyed in his brief time away. Llynis was still fast asleep, curled up on the cushions—but Orca had moved ever so slightly, staring directly at him with a preternaturally calm gaze.

"What?" Galbatorix said challengingly, unused to being stared down by anyone, much less a five-year-old chit. There was no response, of course, and Galbatorix gave a small huff of annoyance as he set Murtagh down next to Llynis. Gazing down at them, Galbatorix could almost imagine that they were two lovers, fallen asleep after a night of passionate lovemaking.

Almost. Something just didn't fit—maybe it was the slight snores coming from Llynis, or the strange paleness of Murtagh's skin (courtesy of a week kept underground…). The picture just wasn't very convincing.

_Oh well, nothing's perfect,_ Galbatorix thought amiably. His finger brushing Murtagh's forehead, he closed his eyes and reached out, forming the words that would wake him out of his coma-like state.

_Easy, now. Don't rush. Nothing to worry about..._

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Light. Too much of it, too painful, too...

"Don't try to sit up too soon," a gentle voice said from not too far off. "How does it feel? Are you all right?"

All right? He groaned faintly, his mouth paper-dry—from the corner of his mouth, a drop of blessed coolness fell, soaking into the parched skin. Water.

"It's all right," that same voice said after he had drunk. "Just breathe. Can you tell me your name? Do you remember?"

"Murtagh," he said weakly after a moment of horrifying blankness. There was a noise building in his head—rising steadily, an annoyance and distraction. Trying hard to think, he managed, "What—happened...?"

"There was an accident," the voice said calmly. "What do you remember? Can you recall?"

Murtagh hesitated, searching his memory. An accident? What kind of accident? Something red...something graceful, and a blue streak of _something_...

Thorn? Dragon?

"Thorn," Murtagh said indistinctly. "Thorn—dragon—all right?"

"He's fine," the voice said after a moment. "Listen to me. What can you—"

But Murtagh couldn't hear him anymore—the noise was defeaning now, echoing and building and throwing itself around in the crevices of his mind. Hard to think. Hard to focus.

"Can't..."

A cool touch brushed his forehead, and instantly the sound was—muted, sort of, faint and out of focus. Murtagh relaxed slightly, still struggling to fight his way out of the haze that clung onto him.

"Try to focus, Murtagh," the voice said soothingly. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

The last thing he remembered? Broken images flashed through his mind—faces, colors, places—he _should_ know them, but he couldn't concentrate enough to piece them together. Carefully, flinching from the light, he opened his eyes.

A face hovered in front of his—blurry at first, but soon the shape steadied to produce a strangely handsome man, his features gracefully shaped. They reminded him of somebody (or something), but he couldn't work out who it was just yet.

"My name is Galbatorix," the man said in a low, kind voice. Hands wrapped around Murtagh's back, helping him sit up. "You're all right now."

Murtagh hesitated, his eyes searching the room. There was a sleeping woman beside him: once again, vaguely familiar, but nobody he could identify. Across from the room was a girl, no more than four or five years old, a dragon cradled in her arms.

"Dragon," Murtagh whispered. "The third egg's hatched…"

The words popped out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Murtagh blinked in surprise. The third egg hatched. There were only three, weren't there? Thorn and that green one and…and a…

A black one?

No, that wasn't quite right. Maybe blue? Or white? Or purple with polka dots?

"It's temporary amnesia," Galbatorix said softly, patting his arm reassuringly. "It was quite a traumatic accident…you're all right now. Just take a moment, try to gather your wits, and eat a little something. Don't strain yourself just yet—you're not fully healed."

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Llynis woke up to the faint sound of murmured voices, uncurling herself slowly from her sleeping position. The lamps still lit up the room as strongly as ever, giving no indication as to the time.

Stretching discreetly, she sat up, eyes flicking uncertainly over her surroundings. Orca was asleep in a chair, with that green dragon sprawled lazily in her lap. Not far across from her were two men—the handsome, charming one and the same man that had taken her on that horrible ride on the dragon. Llynis gulped, backing up involuntarily as they stopped their conversation, glancing at her.

"Welcome back to the real world," the handsome one said, standing up. "Do you want anything to eat or drink, Llynis?"

She froze, staring almost fearfully at the one who remained sitting. He looked like a wreck, to be sure—weary, filthy, _smelly_—but that didn't mean he still didn't intend to hurt her. Cowering, she looked at the handsome man for reassurance, finding it in his gentle eyes and protective demeanor.

"It's all right," he said softly. "That's just Murtagh. I'm Galbatorix. I know this has been very stressful for you, but there's nothing to be afraid of."

Llynis nodded, comforted. After all, the handsome man—Galbatorix would never hurt her. He would protect her.

Feeling calmer now, she smiled tentatively at the filthy one—Murtagh. He didn't return it, staring intensely at her with a strange grimace on his face. Unbidden, her hands rose to her face, trying to cover the blush rising into her cheeks. What? What did he want?

"Now, Murtagh, you're scaring Llynis," Galbatorix said with a small chuckle as he dug through a small chest, emerging with a wrapped bundle. "Come on, now. Don't stare so. Both of you must be hungry—now, eat."

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**Five-ish pages, you can't lynch me now. XD Yeah, I know it's boring, but Galby has to implant his lies and all before he can get on with the really fun stuff…**

**Galby/Llynis pairing? –laughs- Don't worry, I haven't forgotten Derek…**

**Not in a very peppy mood right now. So excuse my sugarless responses.**

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**Namine3419**: Llynis is a wimp! Third Riderness shall never be hers. Besides, I have other plans for her…something with a guy whose name begins with a D…or is it G? –shifty eyes-

**Rotem**: Murtagh is reclining in Galby's secret little hole having tea with Llynis and Galby and Orca. One of the fun parts of being a Rider.

**Lady Hikari-Yami**: -grimaces- Oh, speak not the name of the movie. I hate that piece of crap. It's driven me into incurable depression.

**BlindSeer220**: Yeppy yep yep, Orca's the third Rider. –blushes- Did I not make it clear enough? My mistake.

**Fredsonetrueluv**: Derek/Llynis hasn't completely died yet—I mean, I'm not going to let him out of the picture considering what's gonna happen to Llynis...and Orca, too. And Murtagh. To all of them, really. I have a really morbid imagination... –foreshadowing cackle-

**Rock Not War**: Wait, you mean the power just died like that? Wow. I would've thought theaters had emergency power (or whatever) to keep the movie going.

**Coffee Grounds**: -pokes chapter- Enough Galby/Llynis for you? I mean, I'm going to spin this on for a little while, but soon Derek –dun dun DUN!- will sweep in and save Llynis from corruption. Or something like that.

**Ariel32**: -nods- Yeah, I know. I've been poring over the Wiki entry for _Empire_. There must be a lot of avid fans working on Wiki because there are so many entries! Character analyses, events, places—I haven't found another book as of yet that has had so many different sections on Wikipedia.

**Dark Seroph**: -snort- You're more charitable then I am, then. I hate that movie. It sucks. They cut out all the best parts, they totally screwed up Angela and Murtagh, they killed off a lot of the minor characters, and they made the Arya/Eragon relationship into a sappy, "Oh, I love you" kind of thing when it couldn't be more obvious that Arya and Eragon DO NOT FIT EACH OTHER.

**Dreamgirlhoo**: -coughs politely- Sorry, maybe I didn't make it clear enough or something. Llynis isn't the third Rider, Orca is…

Llynis is about seventeen-sixteenish, and Orca is five. Or so, anyway. And yeah, Llynis is a wimp. But you can't really blame the poor lass, can you, considering her horrible life?

**Alsdssg**: Llynis is pronounced 'Lih-niss'. Anyway, how's your opinion of the movie? Man. I was so pepped up earlier and now that I've actually seen the movie I feel like crap and a half. -is depressed-


	12. Result of a Moon

**SORRY!!! ARRGH! I didn't update last week because I was occupied with a) Christmas prezzies and shopping and b) trying to write another fic. –mew- But I did say I'd update this week, right?**

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_1O/11/101_

Murtagh opened his eyes from a very confusing dream, the soft white of the ceiling swimming slowly into focus. With a whispered curse, he sat up.

_Again?_

That was Thorn's voice, sleepy and startled. Murtagh sighed, clenching and unclenching his hands as he stared blankly at the foot of his bed. Ever since he'd recovered from his accident, he'd had the same dreams over and over each night. The figures within the dreams were shadowy, confusing—he had the feeling that he _should_ know them, but didn't.

In fact, he had the feeling that something was missing. Something was not quite right with what Galbatorix had told him—that he had been rescued from the Varden after they captured him against his will, that their leader was an illegitimate bastard named Eragon who was responsible for throwing Alagaesia into chaos.

There was no _reason_ not to trust Galbatorix—the emperor had shown Murtagh nothing but kindness—but instinct screamed that something was wrong.

_Just dreams_, he said finally. _I'll be fine_.

Thorn's mind wavered, and again Murtagh got the feeling that Thorn wanted to say something. But after a moment the dragon subsided, abandoning whatever he was going to say. _Very well_.

Bracing himself against the chill autumn air, Murtagh pulled himself upright and opened the drapes. Outside, the faintest blush of orange spread across the sky as morning dawned.

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With Zar'roc in one hand and half a mind to go sparring, Murtagh stepped outside his bedchamber. He'd barely taken one step when a familiar glimmer of green appeared, a scaly dragon head popping around the corner. _You're awake!_ a voice yelled. _Orca, he's up!_

_Oh, no,_ Thorn commented sardonically in his head. _The Brat is here_. _Kick him, I say._

Murtagh watched in helpless amusement as the month-hold hatchling barreled around the corner, skidding to a halt scant inches away. Panting excitedly, Anil raised sparkling viridian eyes to meet Murtagh's bemused gaze. _We're going to watch you spar!_

"Are you?" Murtagh said, raising an eyebrow. He glanced pointedly over Anil's shoulder. "Where's Orca? Shouldn't you be at breakfast?"

_Breakfast can wait,_ Anil said, sounding prim. _We've noticed you do sword practice every morning, and that's much more exciting than oatmeal. We're not hungry, anyway._

Murtagh stared at the dragon for a moment before deciding to give up. Anil was stubborn—he'd learned that already. And arguments tended to bounce off Orca until you felt like you were talking to a stone wall for all the good it got you. With these two, it was so much easier just to give in.

From behind Anil, Orca's hand reached up and touched Zar'roc's sheath tentatively. Murtagh stared at the small hand, then at the girl. She looked back at him steadily, her dark brown eyes calm.

Her gaze made him uncomfortable, and he looked away. It was as if she knew—knew about his doubts, his worries, his dreams. Strange world, when a five-year-old could make you feel exposed, open to the pain of the world.

Murtagh sighed, running his fingers along Zar'roc's sheath. "Misery, Orca," he said distractedly, dropping his gaze. "It's called Zar'roc. The sword, that is."

Orca tilted her head slightly, watching.

_Wow,_ Anil said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. _Cool. Can you _use_ it?_

Despite himself, Murtagh grinned at the pointed goad. Anil and Orca were perfect opposites—one talked, the other didn't, one was solemn, the other lighthearted. But then again, opposites attracted.

"Why don't you come with me and see?" Murtagh said, continuing down the hall.

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_Not them _again, Thorn said, sounding distinctly annoyed as they emerged onto the training grounds. _They're like sad, pathetic little ducks. Following you around, and you're relegated to mother hen._

Murtagh shrugged noncommittally as he looked around, his eyes slitted against the morning sun. There were few people out here so early in the morning; mostly hardened soldiers who held evening watches and were whiling away the boring hours between watch and sleep. There was an odd scattering of men who were practicing swordplay on horseback, and a couple unfamiliar servants sweeping the grounds who stared at him with unabated curiosity, a few of them hurrying away as if he had the plague.

Orca settled in a corner, watching him intently with Anil by her side as Murtagh found a sparring partner. The soldier, a hardened veteran, gave the tiniest smirk and the lift of his eyebrows as he saw Murtagh's companions, but had sense enough to stay silent. Still smirking, he picked up a blunted practice sword and tossed one to Murtagh.

Murtagh steadied himself, watching the man's chest for movements that would give away his next attack. In a flash of blinding metal, the soldier surged forward, bringing his sword up in a glancing arc.

Pivoting slightly, Murtagh blocked the blow. Twisting to the left, he swept the sword tightly forward, only to be stopped as the soldier pressed forward, pushing a hard offense.

Murtagh relaxed slightly, getting into the rhythm of blow, counterblow, attack, and defense. It was soothing, in a way. The world narrowed down into the two swords, the sun reflecting wildly off the blades as they cut through the air, flowing smoothly as if in some wild dance.

_A boy's face, just in front of him, laughing as they sparred. "Enough, halt!" he declared in a voice that was threatening to break out into laughter. Gasping, he dropped onto the ground, raking his hair out of his eyes, grinning up at Murtagh. "You're just as good."_

Murtagh gasped at the scene shot through his mind, his concentration breaking. Stumbling back, he nearly dropped the sword as he scrambled to regain his wits. With a triumphant grin, the soldier came in for the kill.

Jumping aside, Murtagh just barely managed getting smacked in the temple. With a grunt, he fought to readjust his grip on the sword when the soldier leapt forward—the blunt blade hit him squarely on his left arm, and he went sprawling.

"Yield," he heard the soldier saying, the blade pressing against his neck.

Murtagh yielded wearily and stood, his head still spinning from the remnants of the vision. Thorn was suddenly alert, his grumpiness washed away by the sudden spike in Murtagh's emotions. _What happened?_ the dragon asked, alarmed. _You haven't been beaten yet by any of these men, why now?_

_A vision…_Murtagh said shortly, rubbing his temple as he stomped back into the palace. _Or maybe a hallucination._

Thorn seemed to about to say something, but eventually all that came out was a soft curse. _It may mean more than you think_, he said finally, his tone hinting at some other meaning. _Maybe it's a—argh, blast it!_

_What?_

_Nothing_. Thorn's mind was washed with annoyance, but the dragon refused to elaborate.

Murtagh shrugged and slid Zar'roc back into its sheath. From behind, a piping voice lit into his mind—_I thought you were supposed to be the best!_

Very slowly, Murtagh turned to see Anil standing in the doorway, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Whatever Murtagh was about to say (most likely rude and sarcastic) vanished as Anil bounded forward, his wings fluttering excitedly. _But that was amazing anyway,_ the dragon continued cheerfully. _Is it time for breakfast now?_

"You gave up the right to breakfast when you decided to watch me spar," Murtagh scolded gently, flicking Anil's ear. The ear twitched back, and Anil snorted. "Besides, didn't you say you weren't hungry?"

_That was before._

"Hypocrite," Murtagh said, shaking his head. "Where's Orca?"

_Back there. _Anil gestured with his tail; Orca was walking up very slowly into the cool interior of the palace.

"And isn't Llynis supposed to be taking care of you two?" Murtagh continued, feeling slightly helpless now. "Feeding you is her job."

_We haven't seen her since last night_, Anil informed him. _She went out after dinner and we haven't seen her since. Besides, she always just squeaks and throws things at me. Never food._

Murtagh shrugged and gave it up for the moment. Resigned, he took them to breakfast.

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Galbatorix stirred as the first rays of sun brushed his face, teasing him awake. Opening his eyes, he stretched luxuriously, blinking serenely at the ceiling.

"Good morning," he said gently, brushing his bedmate's hair out of her face. "It's another day, sleepyhead."

Curled up in the sheets, Llynis smiled at him shyly. "Too early."

"That's the beauty of it," he said softly, almost hypnotically as he caressed her hair. "The strokes of the master artist, Nature, as she wields her brush…sweeping oranges, flaming reds, all of these colors she uses to create her sunrise. To all, this is her signal to arise."

He could feel Llynis sigh softly, an arm reaching up slowly to brush his face. "That's beautiful."

Galbatorix smiled, a lazy smile of contentment. Sitting up, he looked down at Llynis, who lay half-covered in the silken sheets. By offering her peace, security, and a semblance of love, he could hold her in the palm of his hand forever.

Kissing her gently on the cheek, he stood. "Will you wake up, then?"

Llynis shifted, smiling adoringly up at him. "Do you want me to?"

"It would be a pleasure," he informed her gravely. With a radiant smile, Llynis sat up, wrapping a sheet about herself. He watched her, a glint in his eyes as she got dressed.

"I should get back to Orca," she said suddenly, turning away from him. For a moment—just a moment—a fleeting expression of worry crossed her face.

"Where'd you leave her?" Galbatorix asked.

Llynis waved an arm vaguely. "In my room. I locked it, though."

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Galbatorix murmured, throwing out a mental web. They were nowhere near the servants' chambers—rather, Anil and Orca were in the dining room, along with Murtagh. With a slight smile, he turned back to Llynis. "You needn't worry, my dear," he said soothingly, layering his voice with more honey. "Everything will be fine."

The faint crease in her brows went away as a dreamy expression fell over her face again. Galbatorix watched her, faintly amused. She was like putty under his hands—too weak to resist his charms, and too frightened of everything else to try.

The more time she spent in his bed, the less need he saw for her existence. Orca and Anil were spending more and more time with Murtagh, now—the real purpose of Llynis was to care for them, and she obviously wasn't that needed.

He could take his time about it. If nothing else, she was a cuddly companion in bed.

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Breakfast was all right, although the cook came out after a half-hour or so to offer a thousand billion humble pardons, but there was no more ham. Anil, curled up on a pile of cushions, gave a lazy burp and grinned with all his teeth at the cook, making the poor man scurry away in a gibbering mess.

Murtagh smiled vaguely as he idly fingered his fork. Staring down at the warped metal, he turned the morning's vision over and over in his mind.

He had known that man, that boy in the vision. He had traveled with him, been friends with him…Murtagh knew this instinctively, but could not place who exactly that man _was_. It was another part of his past that he had forgotten, lost into shadows.

"Murtagh."

Startled, Murtagh looked up. Galbatorix stood next to him, a concerned expression on his face. "Are you all right? You looked…lost."

"Yes," Murtagh said slowly, setting the fork down. He gave a quick apologetic smile and shrugged. "Sorry."

"If there's any problem—_any_—you know you can come to me," Galbatorix said quietly. "My door is always open to you."

"I'm fine," Murtagh said softly. "Truly, my lord."

"Good," Galbatorix patted him lightly on the shoulder before glancing down the table to where Orca and Anil were huddled. "I trust everything is all right, then?"

Murtagh nodded, and Galbatorix favored him with a benevolent smile. "Then it's time to learn magic, Murtagh." He gestured at Orca and Anil. "Them as well."

Pushing back his chair and signaling Orca and Anil to follow, Murtagh trailed Galbatorix out of the room.

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**BLURK! _My lord?_ Murtagh, whattaya doing?**

**Yes, he has been truly brainwashed. But fear not, because very, very soon something is going to happen. It's already been hinted (very vaguely) at in this chapter. Suffice to say, dem nasty Varden ain't gonna wait around much longer.**

**This chapter's kind of disjointed and plotless…apologies. I've been a bit out of sync. I will _try my best_ to get an update for next Saturday, but since I'm going to be occupied with a one-shot I want to write (-pokes Silvered Ice-), I don't know how far I'll get. I AM NOT DROPPING THIS STORY! You hear? I'M NOT!**

**Happy Belated Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Whatever and a Merry New Year! **

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**Rock Not War:** OOH. –shiny eyes- Natural disaster, cool. Taiwan had an earthquake this past week…four or five major shock waves, and about a zillion minor ones. Twas quite exciting.

**Fredsonetrueluv**: If I have my way (which I probably won't, seeing how plot bunnies constantly bite me), then Derek will swoop in to save the day. Or something like that, anyway.

**Saf Dawnheart**: So how was the party? Believe me, if you have something to rant about, that makes it even better. You can spend _hours_ happily bashing as big a piece of crap as the Eragon movie.

It's not really pedophilism…Llynis _is_ an adult, after all. –rereads sentence- Well, compared to Galby (who's about five times her age) I guess she's quite a tot…but hey, it's better than Orca/Galby. Yecccch.

**Alsdssg**: Yeah, no Solembum and Angela was MESSED UP! ARGH! I read the movie-bashing-chappie in WGiL, and I absolutely agree. YES, YES YES. The movie sucked, it was clichéd, and it ought to go to –censored-

Orca's fine, but I like Anil better. I can't write Orca POV's, they're too hard… X.x

**Dreamgirlhoo**: MOVIE POPCORN? Oh, ew, _no_. Taiwan's movie theaters don't have popcorn (but you can literally bring dinner into the theater and eat it there), but I recall back in the States that they had like, liquid butter or whatever so half the popcorn was soggy and the other half was tasteless. XP

**Lady Elora**: You're on vacation now? We get New Year's off from school (_finally, a day off!!!)_ but not much else. Our so-called winter vacation doesn't start until…mmm…February. THAT'S FRICKIN' SPRING VACATION!

**Dark Seroph**: -laughs maniacally- You bring the rack, and I'll bring the branding irons. BWAHAHA!

Actually, I don't know if I have any torture scenes. Maybe something with the Varden, but you can't let the good guys torture people…then they wouldn't be good, would they?

**Ariel32**: Have you watched the movie yet? A friend of mine said the other day that she wanted to go see it, and I was like, "OH, CRAP NO! DON'T WASTE YOUR MONEY! IT **SUCKS!**"

I think I freaked out a bit too much because she gave me this _look_. And I felt properly chastised and hung my head. . 

**Embry**: Thanks! Glad you like it.

**Jezza**: Yep, I sincerely hope they don't do _Eldest_ in movie format because they'll screw it up so damn bad. If they do, then they'll have to cut out all the parts with Roran because obviously Katrina has poofed into thin air. And they'll make a huge Arya/Eragon thing, and everybody will go home puking…

**(blank): **You liked the movie? Well…um…-scratches head- No comment. -.-

**Desertangel**: I started off with a neutral attitude to Eragon and a vague attraction to Murtagh, and now I'm all, oh hell Eragon's an idiot! and Murtagh's totally awesome. And then Paolini made Murtagh into some psycho-nut Rider and made me cry.

Yeah, my dad said that the Eragon movie was 'okay'. He was a bit confused by the characters (at the end, I quizzed him and he had no idea who Arya, Murtagh, Durza and Roran were), but he seemed pretty amiable about it. Then again, he hasn't read the book…

**Courtnay**: Well, whaddaya think about Galby/Llynis? –laughs- Nah, I wouldn't pair Murtagh up with an OC because I already did it in the sort-of-but-not-really prequel to this. If anything, I would choose Nasuada.

I don't think Garrett Hedlund is that great an actor. I hated him in _Troy_. He was pretty cool as Murtagh, but then again he had about five minutes of screentime.

**BlindSeer220**: Baby Saphira was CUTE! That was the best part of the stupid movie, seeing cute little baby Saphira! I read an article in the _New York Times_ about how much effort they put into animating a good Saphira. Too bad it couldn't make up for the rest of the lousy movie.

**Huskeepup**: That's good advice, but if the movie were an actual fic I'd flame it so bad. Or not, because I don't like to make people cry. It wouldn't go on my favorites list, I know that…

Murtagh/Eragon slash? I've read a few fics. Weird, though.

**Hoarmurath**: Murtagh likes Galby. XO Or at least doesn't hate him, anymore. However… (there's always a however) something will happen next chapter…


	13. Searching

_10/11/101_

Murtagh turned over in his bed, restlessly trying to find sleep. The silence was thick, almost as if you could cut with a knife. It was the kind of silence that drove people _mad_.

_Thump_.

He ignored the sound. It was probably another indication of his growing fragility of mind, an omen of doom for his increasing insanity. Half-dreams and half-thoughts came up all the time that made no sense at all; he had gotten quite good at ignoring them.

_Thump. Thump_.

That again. With a grimace, Murtagh threw off the covers and padded silently to the balcony, pulling back the drapes. Nothing. Turning, his eyes raked the room—nobody, as far as he could—

_Thump thump thump_.

Oh. That.

With a sigh, Murtagh walked to the door, swinging it open with exasperation written all over his face. It was as he'd expected—Anil stood in front of the door, looking very pleased with himself. Behind him, a sleepy resignation on her face, stood Orca.

"Not _again_," Murtagh muttered, but he swung the door open anyway. Anil bounded into the room, a certain jaunty spring in his step. Orca followed him, walking with the steady step of the half-asleep. "Anil, can't you sleep in your own room?"

Anil fixed him with one beady eyes, cocking his head. _No_.

"And why not?" Murtagh demanded.

_Because Llynis snores._ Anil flicked his tail dismissively, and added, _Besides, you don't cringe in a corner of the room and glare at me all the while._

"You're going to have to get used to it," Murtagh said, gritting his teeth. "You can't come into my room all this time, Anil. One day you're going to get too big and end up sleeping in the woods. Look. I know Llynis doesn't like you, but—"

_Hah!_ Anil shook his head, snorting. _Don't like? She _hates_ me._

"I can see why," Murtagh murmured with a sigh, resigning himself to the fate he knew was coming. "I don't suppose I can change your mind?"

_No_. Anil's voice was firm, and his eyes dared Murtagh to disagree.

"One day I will lock that door," Murtagh said finally, glaring at the green dragon with a feeling of annoyed exasperation. "I will lock it with magic, and let's see how well you can tag me then."

Anil cocked his head, and Murtagh felt his resolve crumble in the face of that inquisitive expression. He shrugged helplessly as Anil jumped off the bed, jumping into a pile of cushions that he usually used for a bed whenever he slept in Murtagh's room. Which was often. Which was annoying, too.

Murtagh ran his tongue along his teeth, wondering if it was too late to kick them out. He felt distinctly tired—almost sick, but nothing showed up in his magic's eye. Maybe it had just been a phenomenally long day, but the prospect of sleeping with them was daunting. Not worth the trouble…

Murtagh hesitated at the edge of bed, staring down at Orca. The little girl was asleep already, curled up on a heap of blankets, her dark brown hair carelessly arranged across the pillow.

But.

It would be _rude _to kick them out, now that Orca was asleep.

Almost protectively, he pulled the blankets up around her. She murmured softly, her eyes opening for just an instant to stare at him sleepily. Then they were closed again, the solemn frown smoothing out in sleep.

Murtagh settled himself onto the bed slowly, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. With the soft rhythm of breathing in his ear, he went to sleep.

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Morning came with bright, streaming sunshine that blazed into his room, lighting up everything with a shining glory. With a muttered curse, Murtagh sat up, noticing that he had forgotten to close his drapes.

It was cold, and his lack of a shirt didn't help. His head felt strangely thick, with a dull headache pounding at his temples. Was he really sick, then? Or was it just because Thorn was asleep...?

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his notice, and he turned slowly towards it. Through squinted eyes, he noticed Anil, sitting smugly on the marble floor. Huddled in the shelter of the dragon's wing was Orca, her eyes half-closed.

_Good morning,_ Anil greeted, his tail thumping against the floor.

Murtagh grunted, in no mood for civil conversation. Stumbling to his feet and wincing at the frigid marble underfoot, he staggered over to the balcony and forced the drapes closed. Turning around, he demanded hoarsely, "What are you _doing_ here, Anil?" Belatedly, he added, "And Orca?"

_You invited us in. Time for breakfast!_ Anil sang.

"The invitation extended to this morning, when you woke up. Get _out_," Murtagh ordered, feeling slightly nauseous in addition to irate. "Both of you. I'll talk to you later."

Ignoring any response that Anil made, Murtagh lurched his way to the washstand. The water didn't help, only serving to make him colder. Staring at himself in the bright arc of polished copper, he found that his cheeks were flushed with fever.

_Oh, hell_.

Turning around, he found himself staring into the bright viridian eyes of Anil. "Go _away,_" Murtagh snapped, swaying where he stood. All he wanted to do was to crawl back under the warm covers again, where he could suffer in peace. He did _not_ want Anil around, serving only to pester him with silly questions and generally destroy what little sanity he had left by sheer volume of words. "I _said_, go away!"

Anil looked at him reproachfully, but didn't say anything upon hearing the tone of true fury underlying Murtagh's voice. He glanced sideways at Orca, who obediently got to her feet. _All right,_ Anil said, sounding sulky.

Murtagh sighed, mild guilt beginning to taint his thoughts as he watched them shuffle out the door. Maybe he shouldn't have been so abrupt with them, especially Anil. He was only a month old, after all. And Orca, too…

_I'll make it up to them later,_ he decided wearily. Collapsing onto the bed, he promptly fell asleep.

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"_Is your brain _rotten?_" he screamed, shoving Murtagh away. "Why did you kill him?"_

_Murtagh glanced at him, startled. "I don't see why you're so upset—"_

"Upset!_" he exploded, waving his hands wildly in the air. "I'm well past that! Did it even occur to you that we could just leave him here and continue on our way? NO! Instead you turn into an executioner and chop off his head! He was defenseless!"_

_Murtagh's gaze shifted from his livid face to the decapitated head in the sand a few yards away. The empty eyes stared at him, the expression frozen in a mocking parody of shock. Pulling his eyes away, he glanced back at the man's face. "Well, we couldn't keep him around—he _was_ dangerous. The others ran off…without a horse he wouldn't have made it far. I didn't want the Urgals to find him and learn about Arya. So I thought I would—"_

"_But to _kill_ him?_" _the man said, his voice sharp with disbelief. His posture, his eyes—every inch of him repeated the question, seeking some answer beyond what Murtagh could give—Why?_

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A cool hand touched his forehead, shaking him awake. Blearily, Murtagh opened his eyes to see the sympathetic expression of Galbatorix hovering over him. "My lord?" Murtagh said slowly, a hot chill running through him.

"You're all right now," Galbatorix said soothingly, patting his shoulder. "You've somehow managed to ingest a mild strain of poison. It's nothing fatal, fortunately, but enough to make you sick."

Poison? Murtagh's mind struggled to grasp the concept, fighting an uphill battle to understand its full range of implications. He worked his mouth, trying to say something. "How?" he managed finally, the word sending a pang through his skull.

"Nothing you need to worry about. Go to sleep, Murtagh. You'll be well when you wake up."

"Orca all right?" The words leapt to his mouth, unbidden and instinctive. "Not poisoned?"

He could see Galbatorix smile ruefully, mild amusement in his eyes. "The young Rider is fine, Murtagh. So is Anil; Llynis will watch them. Go to sleep, now."

The words were laced with a hint of magic, making it impossible to disobey. His eyes fluttering shut, Murtagh drifted back into dreams.

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"_I'm only trying to stay alive," Murtagh said, shaking his head. "No stranger's life is more important than my own."_

"_But you can't indulge in wanton violence. Where's your empathy?" the man demanded, his hand stabbing out emphatically at the severed head._

"_Empathy? Empathy? What empathy can I afford my enemies? Shall I dither about whether to defend myself because it will cause someone pain? If that had been the case, I would have died _years_ ago!" He stopped, breathing hard. "You must be willing to protect yourself and what you cherish, _no matter what the cost_."_

"_You can justify any atrocity with that reasoning," the man said, his face jerking up to glare at Murtagh, almost as in a challenge…_

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A hand gripped his jaw, forcing a heavy cloth over his nose. Instinctively, he inhaled, the scent of something sickly sweet entering his nose.

Something was pinning his limbs down, wrapping a blindfold about his eyes. His eyes struggled open, but only blackness met his gaze—there was a lurching, almost sickening sensation of movement.

In the distance, he could hear a door slamming and a sharp, high-pitched cry.

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**Crapola. I'm kind in a hurry right now, because I'm sort of not supposed to be on the computer. I'm so sorry for the lame ending of this chapter, but I really am in a bit of a hurry as I may have mentioned. **

**No review responses this time. Thanks to all the wonderful ppls who did review, though! Y'all are awesome! I think I can update next week too, since a plot bunny has bitten clear through my hand. –yips- **

**Ciao ciao! REVIEW!**


	14. Play of Emotions

**Yeah, this is short! Oh, blah. XP**

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_10/11/101_

_Night_

Llynis stared at herself in the arc of polished bronze, frowning meditatively at her reflection. With a sigh, she tucked her hair behind her ear, staring into the serious, plain face framed in the mirror.

There was a knock on the door, but she didn't move immediately to answer it. Nobody came to visit her except Galbatorix, and he always came by night. He always made her feel so sleepy, so wonderfully tired that all she could do was nestle in his arms and sleep.

The knock came again, more insistent. Llynis turned, a frown touching her face. Slowly, as if trying to find her voice, she called, "Who is it?"

"Llynis?"

The voice was vaguely familiar, as if from another life. Llynis turned from the mirror, staring uncertainly at the door. Hesitantly, she put her hand on the bolt, playing with the metal before slowly sliding it aside.

Derek.

He stood there before the door, looking awkward and uncomfortable. Llynis stared at him, feeling confused. For a moment an uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and Llynis could feel agitation rise up in her throat. She didn't like men. Any men besides Galbatorix always tried to hurt her.

"What do you want?" she said faintly.

He offered her a shifty grin and sighed. "I...I came to see if you were all right. With what's going on and all. I mean, his majesty is rather angry right now, and the rumors—"

"What?" Llynis interrupted, a vague frown brushing her face. She blinked, trying to focus. "He's angry?"

Derek looked surprised at her surprise, nodding. "You didn't know? The Red Rider vanished this afternoon. Nobody knows how. His majesty already set the dining room tapestry on fire; everybody's trying to hide in corners and not attract his attention. Llynis, I mean—" he turned red—"I don't mean to judge you, but maybe it's best not to…not to sleep with him tonight?"

Llynis stared at him blankly. His blush deepened, and he shrugged. "I mean, it's just a suggestion."

A number of replies rose to mind. Llynis picked the first one that surfaced—"Why do you care?"

He smiled uneasily, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Call it…instinct. By the way, how's Orca?" he asked quickly, changing the subject.

Another long moment passed. Finally, Llynis said, "She's fine."

"Oh. Good, good to hear that," Derek said, trying to look casual but largely failing. He nodded clumsily and hurried down the hall.

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Galbatorix sat in the dining room, fuming. Behind him, a dozen servants meekly tiptoed around, not daring to make any noise louder than a whisper as they struggled with the tapestry that he had set on fire earlier. It was smoldering now, filling the room with a foully damp smell.

Across from him sat Orca, Anil curled up beside her chair. Galbatorix glanced at them, a twist to his mouth—they, of course, would tell him nothing. Not that Orca ever said anything. Even Anil, though, who usually couldn't shut up if his life depended on it, was mute.

"So you know_ nothing_ about Murtagh," he said finally, the words flat and harsh. The point was moot, actually—he'd confirmed it a dozen times over. Anil flipped open an eye to stare at him before giving a soft sigh and apparently going back to sleep. Orca did nothing.

"Galbatorix?"

He didn't look up, recognizing the soft voice. Llynis stood in one of the smaller doorways, her eyes fixed on him. He could hear a faint tone of concern in the voice, weak and whiny. "Galbatorix?" she repeated, taking a step forward, her hands twisting her dress worriedly.

"Not now." He knew his voice was harsh, revealing his barely tempered fury. "Get out, Llynis."

"But—"

"_Get out!_" Galbatorix screamed. Fear flashed across her face, and then she was bolting, the beginning of a sob welling up as she ran. Galbatorix watched her go with a profound sense of relief, vindicative pleasure that _something_ was going right in this twisted world.

He felt Orca's gaze upon him and narrowed his eyes, lowering his gaze to hers. It was as if she was—was _accusing_ him, sanctimoniously pointing the finger of blame at him. He hissed between his teeth, his fingers curling into fists as he stared at her.

"Bitch," he whispered, surprising even himself at the venom within his voice. For a moment, he wanted to kill her—rip her apart, make her scream, break that holy aura of calm that she always wore. To destroy her, see if she had a voice as he spilled her blood.

Tempting, but no.

It took him a very long moment to get under control again, to remind himself that she was only a five-year-old brat that was probably too stupid to say anything. It worked, vaguely—inhaling slowly, he resisted the urge.

"Servant," he rapped out, his voice cool. Almost immediately, one of the servants was hovering by his elbow, looking nervous and sweaty. Before the man could get past the first round of _my-lording_, Galbatorix had already stood up. "Clean up this mess," he ordered, gesturing at the table. "And put the girl and the dragon back in the servant Llynis's chambers. Lock them in."

He was out the door before they could reply.

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_I hope you had a _better_ plan than this,_ Thorn said acidly as they huddled under the cover of the woods, miles away from Uru'baen. _Because of all the stupid things I've heard of in my life, this has got to be one of the stupidest. Galbatorix will be looking. He'll find us._

"Shurrup," one of the men growled.

_Make me_. He yawned, showing very sharp teeth—several of the men flinched, looking away.

From across the glade, a woman stood up. "You have a choice, Thorn," she said, her voice soft. "You can come with us willingly. Or, you can fight us. We drag you by magic. It's that simple."

_It's stupid is what it is,_ Thorn sneered. _I don't think even an all-mighty elf like you could drag me across the length and breadth of Alagaesia, Arya_.

She didn't rise to his bait. "Your choice," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

Thorn considered it for a moment, wings fluttering slightly. His eyes shifted to where Murtagh lay, poisoned into unconsciousness. _If I don't, he dies, is that it?_ Thorn said, not bothering to conceal the venom in his voice.

Arya said nothing. Thorn eyed her with loathing, his lip curling slightly. _What happens if I agree?_

"Then you come with us to the Varden. We'll give him the antidote there."

_Your word on it, elf?_ he demanded.

She smiled at that, her lips curling up in a humorless smirk. "Would you trust my word, _dragon_?"

_I trust my fangs to tear you to pieces if you lie,_ he growled, his tail lashing. _What of it?_

Arya shrugged. "I don't lie."

_Say it in the ancient language!_ Thorn demanded. _Say it! If I go with you, then you don't hurt him. You cure him. You don't keep him locked up in your stupid Varden hideyhole like he's some monster. What the hell do you want him for, anyway? What do you want _us_ for? If you want to kill us, why don't you just do it already?_

Silence followed this little rant; Arya's eyes were flat. Finally, she said tonelessly in the ancient language, "I swear to provide Murtagh with the antidote upon arrival at the Varden, should the dragon Thorn agree to comply. I swear to treat him civilly, though I cannot account for the behavior of others." She looked up. "Satisfied?"

_Hardly,_ Thorn growled, but he settled back down onto the ground. _Fine. I seriously hope you have a better plan than this, because if Galbatorix catches you, we're all in deep trouble._

"A contigent of spellcasters will meet us soon," Arya said calmly. "In the meantime, I suggest you sleep. That goes for all of you," she added, nodding at the men. "There will be some hard traveling ahead. I will take first watch."

There were some uneasy grumbles, but they obeyed. Thorn opened his wing, closing it around Murtagh protectively. _Murtagh?_ he tried tentatively, reaching along their connection.

There was only a very faint, dulled reply. With a tired sigh, Thorn closed his eyes.

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**Talk about guilt. Seriously, I didn't want to post this week. I've had the most _horrible_ writer's block, and I have finals next week. Major uber studying. Not even plot bunnies help…**

**But then I log on and see so many reviews, and considering the overall crappiness of last chapter, my conscience starts to kick me. So, yeah. I hope to post another chapter tomorrow; there's about a fifty-fifty chance. The more reviews I get, the higher probability of another chapter! –hint hint-**

**Hey-ho, away we go. Review responses?**

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**Mistress-of-Misery**: Well, _hello!_ Nice to see you again. Yes, I am quite flattered. –blushes- This fic was born out of watching _Mission Impossible III—_the first chapter was actually a kind of daydream for Ethan Hunt when he sees Lindsey again. O.o But as my writing tends to do, it kind of mutated.

**Coolhassan**: Thanks! You're actually _writing_ in a journal? Like, writing writing or typing? God, I can't write anything these days, I'm such a computer-dependent idiot. I have to type. Must type. The inspiration doesn't _come_ unless I'm sitting before a computer with my hands glued to the keyboard. Pencils and paper just don't do it dese days…

**Dark Seroph**: Parents were out. –shifty eyes- I had about two-thirds of the chapter done, and I was hurrying so badly to get it done that the ending was kind of screwed. Lesser of two evils, though, at least for me—if they knew I'd snuck on, I'd get –makes strangled sound- so badly. Especially because I was supposed to be studying… X.x

**Ariel32**: If I ever manage to get around to it, the reunion scene at the Varden twill be fun. It might be next chapter; in fact, I think it is. That's why I have to give Murtagh his memories back, in order to make it more angsty and everything. And yeah, I wanted to stick in Thorn last chapter but I couldn't figure how to do that and do the thingy with Orca at the same time in the short time I had. Does that make sense?

**Lady Elora**: What, you're a fan of happy endings? So Eragon should kick Galby's butt, the Varden triumph, and peace and glory for Alagaesia?

Ah, oui, the Varden are 'rescuing' Murtagh. But that doesn't mean it necessarily has to succeed, does it? –sinister laugh- You never know…Galby just might find them.

**Coffee Grounds**: I'll save you! Dun duN DUN! –runs forward with a mattress- Even though all your bones are probably broken from that dreadful fall, at least you have somewhere nice to sleep… X.x

**October Morning**: -laughs- Why, thank you! Yeah, T&M was the longest, hardest haul of my life and I'm not even going to _touch_ it now that it's done. But any comments on VF are highly appreciated—me like reviews vewy much. :-)

**Treeonfire13**: Don't call me mean! Waaah! My heart is broken eternally, I'm going to curl up in a corner and die now… ;.;

Okay. I don't _hate_ Garrett Hedlund, not really. I just don't…like him. I mean, I've only seen him in _Eragon_ and _Troy_, but I recall thinking that he sucked in the latter. Of course, I remember that I hated _Troy_ in general (_all_ the actors, not just Hedlund) so I supposed I may be just a wee bit biased…but he was cool in _Eragon_. Even if he did only get about five minutes of screen time. But then again, I'm totally in love with Murtagh so I suppose that's another classic case of bais.

**Shadow ShiningPalm**: Thanks! How far I get actually depends on the number of plot bunnies that swarm my house. Donations welcome!

**Yoyowhat's up**: That's actually a point of debate for me—yea or non? I mean, I _want_ to let the Varden succeed in saving Murtagh, but on the other hand…I have a vague idea on what to do with Orca, so I'm seriously not sure. Anyway, next chapter will tell…

**Alsdssg**: Yeah, kind of makes you wonder what people with amnesia go through. -shrugs- I mean, amnesia is one of those things that have been cornified by lame sitcoms, but it's still got to be harsh in real life.

**Meep meep**: -blushes- Yeah, I know. Thanks anyway, though!

**Dreamgirlhooo**: Yell at the folks? Oh, deah. I fear the consequences of such subordination should overwhelm me and send me into major, major lecture-ness at the ebils of ranting at the parents. –shifty eyes-

Galbatorix isn't insane! He's just evil. And mean. BUT NOT INSANE! NOOO!


	15. Trust No One

**YAY X-Files! Whee!**

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_Date unknown_

Time.

It moved. It was always there, measuring off the trickle of sand as it flowed relentlessly through the timeglasses. Through pain and sorrow, joy and peace, time continued unrelenting and eternal.

By this reasoning, he knew it it passed. He knew that somewhere out there, the seconds were passing away, fading into dust. The sun rose and set, lives flowered and died. He didn't know exactly how fast they were going—was it only a day, a week, a year? Or was it none of those but only a mere second between the light?

_Murtagh?_

The sounds were another constant, too. Sometimes they were so soft he could barely hear them, and sometimes they were so loud he thought he would die from them. But he never did.

_Murtagh. Can you hear me?_

That voice. It was stronger than all the others, and more annoying, too. He could hide from it, but only marginally—it pervaded his skull, bashing his pleasant daydreams into pieces.

_Listen, Murtagh. Stop hiding and answer, for gods' sake!_

A second voice added to the cacophony, sharper and more acidic. He couldn't understand the strange sounds they were making—it was so much better to just float there, lost in the peaceful darkness. Nothing to bother him, nothing…

…except those curst voices.

_Look, this isn't funny, all right? We've just been dragged halfway across Alagaesia by a bunch of elves with no sense of humor whatsoever, so I'd really appreciate if you'd give me _some_ conversation to play with. Stop _hiding_. They gave you a half-antidote, I know you're there_.

Wait. He knew that voice...

_Stop playing stupid!_ it yelled, a definite tone of annoyance in it. _Answer me!_

_Thorn?_ Murtagh said, recognizing the voice in a sudden flash of realization. It was accompanied by a sharp flush of relief, and a heightened awareness of what exactly was going on. _Thorn, is that you?_

_Yes…_ came the reply. _Who else? _

_I don't know_, Murtagh said carefully. _What was that first voice, Thorn? There was another person before you_.

Pause. Then, Thorn said, _That's Eragon_.

_Eragon?_

_Yep. _Thorn withdrew, and Murtagh got the vague sense he was saying something to somebody else. And then he was back, his voice subdued. _He wants to talk to you. Hold on_.

Thorn's voice wavered, then vanished altogether. Murtagh waited, restless within the cocoon of darkness. The sounds rose once Thorn was gone, overwhelming him with their shrieks and cries and chants. Driving him mad, without hope for relief…

_Murtagh?_

That first voice was back again—strangely familiar, but at the same time ultimately foreign. It helped keep the other voices down, helped him focus. Murtagh listened to it, feeling scraps of old memories stir within him—he _knew_ him. Not as an enemy, but as something else—

_Murtagh. You're in Surda, away from Uru'baen. I'm going to lift the haze around you, but you have to swear not to do anything out of order that could harm any of us here, or result in an escape of some kind. Do you swear?_ Pause. _Murtagh?_

_Yes_, Murtagh said finally, his voice lost and drifting as it was swallowed by the blackness. His voice firming slowly, he said in the ancient language, _I swear_.

Eragon's mind broke off briefly, and then touched his again. Slowly, Murtagh became aware of a shift in the darkness—light, heat, sound. With a soft hiss of shock, he opened his eyes.

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From birth, Mattes was unnoticed. Shadowed by the birth of his sickly twin, his parents had been too busy fretting over his brother to give Mattes anything besides the very basics of life. He grew up in a similar way—plain, overlooked, ordinary in every way.

People's eyes tended to skip over him as if he wasn't there, ignoring his soft, meek voice. They never remembered his face or his name, and could barely recall that he was ever there.

As it is with human beings, he adapted. The same plainness that was his curse could also be a gift—he moved silently through the world, a shadow on the walls. Shadows had ears, though, and he used that to his best advantage in his position as a spy for Galbatorix, in the ranks of the Black Hand.

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_10/20/101_

He swung open the door, offering a meek smile to the guard at the door. Quietly, his head bowed, he said, "Your Majesty?"

In his chair, the king of Surda looked up, startled. "Huh? What? What is it?"

Mattes looked up slightly, offering an apologetic smile. "Your Majesty, Lady Nasuada requests your presence in the second infirmary."

Orrin frowned slightly, twisting his hair idly around his finger. He seemed disturbed by the news, his brow wrinkled in uncharacteristic concentration. Finally, he said, "Um. Yes. Very well. I will attend to her immediately…thank you, servant." He swept out of the room, still muttering under his breath.

Mattes watched him go, intrigued. It was unlike the Surdan king to be preoccupied by anything other then whatever mad experiment he was toying with at the time. Then again, there were rumors...

Silently, he counted to ten before following Orrin out of the room.

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They stood there in a line before him, looking alternately shocked or solemn or amused. They did look familiar, but he couldn't place any of their names or _how_ he knew them.

"Murtagh?"

The speaker was a young woman, dressed in a silk dress that complemented her dark skin perfectly. She was in her mid-twenties, maybe, and the smile on her face had a definite note of uncertainty about it. Murtagh watched her, feeling vague memory stir within him.

She moved as if to take his hand, but the man beside her stopped her. Murtagh turned his gaze onto him, searching for any clue as to the man's identity. He looked almost elfin in a way that was _almost_ feminine but not quite. His face was serious, and almost instinctively Murtagh knew that this must be Eragon.

There was an awkward silence in the air as the various personages arrayed around the bed coughed, looked at the ceiling, or shuffled their feet. Nobody seemed to know what to say—the dwarf next to Eragon drummed his fingers idly on the bed, and the female elf next to him stared coolly at a point above Murtagh's head.

They might have stayed that forever, when the door burst open.

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"What is the _meaning_ of this?" yelled the intruder, waving his arms in the air. "Nasuada, what do you mean by inviting this _thing_ into Surda? I gave you no permission whatsoever! He could blow up my country! Throw it to Galbatorix! We don't need more trouble than we already have and here you are inviting the Red Rider into the very heart of Surda—"

"Orrin—" the woman who had to be Nasuada interrupted.

"—I won't _stand_ for it! I'll chop off his head myself if that's what it takes! You silly fool! He could kill you! He could kill you all, and yet you stand there in a row like little bunny rabbits waiting to be caught—"

Murtagh cleared his throat, and the man's eyes bulged. "You see what I mean!" he cried dramatically, pointing a finger at Murtagh, who raised an eyebrow in response. "You have no way of controlling him and yet you bring him into _Surda_, the last free refuge in this whole continent—"

"_Orrin!_" Nasuada snapped.

Orrin stopped, breathing hard. "I won't stand for it," he declared almost petulantly, stomping his feet. "Nasuada, what were you _thinking_?"

"Actually, I'd like to know that as well," Murtagh said suddenly. He glanced at Eragon, who wouldn't meet his gaze. "Why?"

Silence.

Finally, it was the elf that spoke. Her eyes were cool and direct, the winter tone of her voice brooking no argument. "Together with Galbatorix, you two are undefeatable. We hoped to improve the odds with Galbatorix by removing you."

"By killing me," Murtagh said softly, feeling the implied meaning in her words. She made no reply, her face flat and expressionless.

He closed his eyes, his thoughts tumbling over one another. Was that all they wanted, then? But that made no sense whatsoever—if they wanted to kill him, they could have done so long ago. How long was he—was he poisoned? How long was he unconscious, anyway?

And Thorn. Where was Thorn? Where was Orca, and Anil? He could remember a scream, like a long distant past—was that her? Was she all right? Were _they_ all right? What day was it, anyway—

With a sharp cry, Murtagh grabbed at his temples as the voices _exploded_ inside his head, his agitation breaking them free of the barrier that Galbatorix had laid over them. He'd gotten dependent on it—without practice, he'd lost any control he'd ever had over them. His eyes snapped open, seeing only blank whiteness before him as the voices raged, screamed and _raged_ within his head.

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Mattes could hear screams coming from inside the infirmary, followed by a riot of yells, thuds, and crashes. The guards at the door ran inside, conveniently leaving the door open for Mattes to look in.

As far as he could tell, only one bed in the corner was occupied. The main source of the noise came from there, and the crowd around it blocked the occupant from his view. His eyes raked the scene, trying to absorb as much as possible before the guards threw him out of the room.

When one of them began to turn towards the door, Mattes was out of there like a flash. Ducking behind a corner, he spat hurriedly into his hand, forming a small pool of spit. Breathlessly, he hissed, "Draumr kopa!", watching as the surface blurred and shimmered, forming into images.

Nasuada, Orik, Eragon, Orrin, Arya, and the two guards were familiar to him, but the man in the center was new. Puzzled, Mattes stared at the image—it was impossible to scry a total stranger, so he must have seen the man before. But where?

An image flashed through his mind—a younger version of the stranger, his hair longer and his face lighter. Mattes had worked in the stables of Uru'baen before discovering his talents as a spy, and the man had owned a particularly fine stallion that he insisted on grooming himself. How long was it? Two or three years ago? His name—what was it again, Morthog? Murtagh?

And asn't he Morzan's son or something like that? Mattes glanced at the image within his hand again, studying it carefully. The epileptic fit seemed to have passed now; he was lying on his side, his face flushed with a cross between pain, weariness, and resignation.

What was Morzan's son doing here, to deserve such an exalted audience? Did it have something to do with the rumors of the missing Rider…?

Footsteps sounded behind him. Hurriedly, Mattes wiped the image away, vanishing down the hall.

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With Thorn's help, he could keep the voices down. He flinched from them, unwilling and unwanting to know just what they could do if set free. Once was enough. Never again.

_Breathe. Just breathe, and focus on surviving_.

Painfully, he forced his eyes open. Eragon's face swam before his, and Murtagh felt suddenly sick to the stomach with nausea. Saintly Eragon, aiding his wreck of a...

His thoughts stopped at this point, and Murtagh was left staring frustratedly into an abyss. What he should know was just beyond him, just out of his reach. He wanted them. He _needed_ them.

Thorn's mind was filled with a half-hope, half-anticipation, his emotions sharp and emphatic. Murtagh turned from him, sick of questions and uncertainty and wishing that somebody would tell him for once just what to do. A straight order, no questions allowed—go conquer the world, kill off these slaves, keep that girl quiet...

"Orca," he said faintly, shaking his head.

"Orca?" Eragon said in a huge, piercing voice. Murtagh recoiled from the sheer _loudness_ of it, burying his head deeper into the pillow as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Orca?" Eragon repeated in a quieter voice. "Who's Orca?"

"Rider," Murtagh mumbled in response.

"Rider?" That was the elf. "What do you mean, Rider?"

A burst of savage pleasure came to life in Murtagh at the urgency in her voice. He didn't answer for a long while, letting her wait as he struggled to sit up. The weakness in his body was terrifying, and he hated the fact.

"Murtagh," a softer voice said. Opening his eyes, Murtagh stared at the speaker—the young woman, Nasuada. "Murtagh," she repeated quietly. "Please answer."

Beside her, the dwarf coughed in a low, grating sound, his eyes dark with suspicion. Murtagh sighed, staring down at his hands, callused and scarred. "She's the third Rider," he said quietly.

A hushed silence filled the air, filled by a sharp accusation from Orrin—"Why haven't we known?" he demanded of the others.

Even though the question wasn't leveled at him, Murtagh answered anyway. "Galbatorix did a couple of spells," he said wearily. "He put a forgetting spell on her...if they saw her or her dragon, they'd forget it a few minutes later."

"He has that much power?" Eragon said softly.

Murtagh laughed tiredly. "He has power," he acknowledged.

He should kill them. He could ask Thorn to do it, even if he couldn't himself. Or he should send a message to Galbatorix—to the man who had done only good for him, the man who had never hurt him.

"What do you want with me?" he said at last.

He could feel their minds working away behind their mental barriers, trying to decide on the best answer to placate him with. It wasn't to kill him, he was sure of it. But what, then?

"We're hoping that you'll come back to our side," Eragon said at last. He smiled at Murtagh, his elfin features kind and deceptive. "We were…" he hesitated, then said carefully, "We were good friends once, after all. Perhaps we can lift your bonds and free you."

_Free me?_ Murtagh wanted to laugh. Free me from what? he wanted to say. Free me from one golden cage into another one? Where the truth is concealed, and always something is never told?

But he smiled too, a smile only a hair less odd than their own.

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Sweating, Mattes leaned forward, stirring the water of the basin tentatively. Whispering under his breath, he sliced his palm open with a dagger, letting the blood drip into the water.

The waters hissed softly as the blood touched, swirling wildly, the surface changing into a dozen colors before clearing. "Your majesty," Mattes whispered as the figure formed within the waters, distant and imposing.

"Black Hand?" the emperor said. "What information do you have for me?"

"The missing Rider," Mattes said, praying that he was right. "The son of Morzan, Murtagh. He's _here_."

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**I have good news and good news! Which d'ya wanna hear first? FINALS ARE OVER! That means winter-slash-summer vacation has started! YES! And for you, that means more chapters as I have more time to work on them! DOUBLE YES!**

**I used two different kinds of dividers here, the **XXX **and the XXX. XXX means that I switched POV's (between Mattes and Murtagh, that is).**

**I got SO many reviews last time. Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!! As you may have noticed, this chapter is therefore longer. XD Yay, huh? **

**REVIEW RESPONSES! YAY SUGARHIGH! WH00T!**

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**BlindSeer220**: I totally know the feeling. It's strange, I can get sugar high without ever TOUCHING chocolate. It must be the aftereffects of the morning's milk tea…MMM! Total, total sugar rush.

**Coolhassan**: I blush too much. –blushes- Actually, I never blush in real life. I can't for some reason. So I might as well make up for it here.

395 pages! I would _die_ if I had to write that much. That's one reason why I'm just a fanfic writer…good luck with your story, by the way!

**Ariel32: **Just for you, I made this chapter six pages. XD But hopefully, the chapters WILL get longer as we inch along. Place emphasis on 'hopefully'…

**XladyXofXsorrowsX**: Well, CP said that the cover of the third book would feature a green dragon, so yeah. I honestly don't remember if they said whether or not the egg was green in the third book…I don't even remember where they said there were only three eggs…

Yes, Eragon is a total git! I've hated him since about the middle of T&M ish. Tell your friends that Eragon is way too noble and is probably destined to die some angsty death right after killing Galby or whatever. And it'll be lame angst, and I'll laugh my guts out because I hate him. O.o

**Shadow Prince Asce**: Ooh! My sympathies. I'm like that with obsessions, too. Hopefully this will help your addictions!

**Desert Angel**: Here's my response: THANK YOU! XD

**Rock Not War**: Thanks:)

**Mariana**: Ump. Orca _is_ the Rider. But don't worry, a lot of people were confused about it too…

**October Morning**: She's still Mary-Sue. Just the fact that she's an elf, a _princess_ elf, a princess elf with a _tragic history_, a princess elf with a tragic history that is having a totally lame relationship with _Eragon_, well! I fear that Arya will never break out of her Mary-Sue coffin. Poor deah. X.x

**Saf Dawnheart**: I know, poor baby! But don't you find the idea of Galby/Llynis just a _little_ bit funny? I know I did, but I have a really sadistic sense of humor. –grins evilly-

Yeah, one of the main failing points of the movie was that _nobody_ looked like how they were supposed to look in the book. No beard, no horns, no pointy ears, no _brown hair_…

**Dreamgirlhoo**: O.o So what moral does that teach us? Fail all our tests? Not that that wouldn't be a spiffeh idea, means I don't have to study! XD

Thanks for the sticker! Me love stickers. –huggles-

**Treeonfire13**: Mmmph. You know what, I have no idea. Should he? If he doesn't, I feel another gristly torture scene coming on…-shivers-

**Kiki89**: NO! DON'T DIE! I'll cry if you do!

**Shadow ShiningPalm: **Your plot bunny bit me during the week. After quarantining it for the necessary 14 days for rabies, I cooked and ate it. Twas quite delicious. Care for a slice? X.x

**Mistress-of-Misery**: You know me so well. No, I don't have a plot. I was hoping creating Mattes would give me one, but as of yet I still flounder helplessly in the land of Randomness…

Nah, it's just the finals for this _semester_. I have an entire blessed month before next semester starts! SPWEE!

**Dark Seroph**: I want _something_ to eat Arya. I'm thinking about giving her a really Mary-Sue death—you know, all heroic and stuff, right after she kicks Galby in the nuts or something. It would fit her character so perfectly…

**Lady Elora**: Yes, real life. Oh, the pain! The FRICKIN' PAIN!

But now that I'm from vacation, real life can pretty much curl up in a corner and DIE. Bwahaha. On a totally unrelated note, I watched _Click_ yesterday and was bawling at the end of it. GAH, I'm such a sap.

**Reading-Girl56**: XD I was scrolling through the reviews and yours totally made me jump. –looks over shoulder guiltily- And then I opened Word and started typing as fast as a could…

**Alsdssg**: The way I'm setting the story up, I think I should have some big, mystic reason for Murtagh's kidnapping. X.x I don't. Shh! Big secret!

I have "Turkey in the Straw" stuck in my head right now because some idiots downstairs were blasting it at full volume. –glares- Why would they play Turkey in the Straw over and over? I have no idea…

**Cyberviper**: Yeah, does CP read fanfiction or NOT? I mean, that would be pretty cool if he did. I wonder what he would do when he reads all those "How to Annoy…" fics out there. O.o

**Fredsonetrueluv**: OMG! Your review made me laugh so hard. I can just imagine ol' Galby getting spanked, and then running to his Mummy afterwards. XD

**REVIEW, PPLS!**


	16. Heart to Heart

**Oh, what a beautiful MORNING, oh what a beautiful DAY! LALALALA! HAPPINESS! CHOCOLATE! BUNNY! Whee!**

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_10/20/101_

_Afternoon_

Galbatorix frowned—a slight, tiny quirk of the lips, and Mattes nearly choked. He'd been hoping for some sort of reward, and now was desperately hoping he wasn't about to become a pile of soot for bearing bad news.

"Very well," Galbatorix said at last. The simple statement freed Mattes from his frozen shell, and he could breathe again—or at least gasp, anyway. He blinked quickly, swallowing against the dryness of his throat. "Thank you, Black Hand. I will see that you are rewarded."

The image blurred, then vanished. Mattes leaned back against the wall, sweaty from more than just weariness from the spell.

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_10/21/101_

_Early_

They let him sleep through the day, sealing the room with several webs of magic that made (almost) impenetrable. Thorn was always there, though—a presence that helped keep the worst of the insanity away, but made it worse by refusing to reveal anything.

He dreamed, of course, and it gave him a strange thrill to know that he could actually identify the people in his dreams now. There was Nasuada, steady and calm, an anchor in the midst of turmoil. The elf-woman, whatever her name was—graceful and lithe, a cat frozen in fluid motion. He had only scraps of the dwarf and Orrin, but Eragon was illuminated in the limelight of his mind—he seemed rougher, somehow, less perfect—but also, in a way, more human.

_We were friends, once. We fought together._

_Weren't we?_

He woke up with a start in the middle of the night—Thorn was asleep, although he still kept the voices at bay. The infirmary was dark, the only light from a single candle on a nearby table.

Murtagh sat up slowly, wincing at the slimy feel of magic. _You really outdid it, didn't you?_ he thought with mild disgust, brushing at the air over the bed. The magic clung to him like a second skin, meant to hamper him if he decided to go on a killing spree.

A soft rustle to the side made him tense. Slowly, cautiously, he turned, fighting to reach his magic. It lay there, just out of reach—just at the edge of his mind, like everything else.

They'd taken it.

"Eragon," he said at last, his voice a soft hiss in the darkness.

From the corner of the room, Eragon stepped forward. "Murtagh," he acknowledged softly, sitting down on a stool. "You've been asleep quite a while."

Murtagh said nothing. He had nothing to say that wasn't pointless or unspeakably rude, anyway. Eragon seemed to notice, a light blush creeping up into his face. "Well."

"Well," Murtagh echoed quietly.

Eragon sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I thought that once you were here, I'd be able to find something to say," he remarked to the air above Murtagh's head. "Once friends, now enemies—I mean, it wasn't your choice, was it?" He glanced quickly at Murtagh, then away. "You told me it wasn't…"

_It wasn't?_

Murtagh kept silent, and Eragon grew noticeably uncomfortable. "Maybe we could free you, Murtagh. Loosen the bonds of magic Galbatorix has over you. You could be one of us, fighting to throw off Galbatorix's tyranny. The elves have sent spellcasters to us. Perhaps with their added power, we could—_you_ could—come back to us."

He paused, looking hopeful. Murtagh studied him in the dim light, trying to remember _who_ Eragon was. Who was telling the truth in this world? Was Galbatorix deceiving him, or Eragon?

Or both?

Murtagh laughed sourly, resting his head against the wall. It would be both, with his fantastic luck. "Why am I here?" he said after a moment, his voice cool and disconnected.

Eragon paused, and shrugged lightly. "We want you to come back, Murtagh."

"Do you?" Murtagh said softly to the darkness. He sat up, resting his hands against the cool fabric of the sheet. "Is that the only reason? Such a noble one? Such a _pure_ one?" He gritted his teeth, his hands curling into fists. "Don't presume to tell me—"

He flinched, breaking off mid-sentence as the voices peaked momentarily, tasting his fury. Thorn woke up abruptly, his voice sleepy and muddled. _Murtagh?_

_I'm fine,_ he said curtly, jerking the voices back under control by sheer force of will. _Go back to sleep_.

_Saphira snores_.

The non sequitur was enough to break the haze of anger that lay over Murtagh. He blinked in the darkness, startled. _What?_

_She _doesThorn sounded disgruntled. _It's enough to put anybody off their nap. Is everything all right?_

Murtagh sighed. _No, but it's getting better by the minute. Good _night_, Thorn_.

_Mmm. Well, never let it be said that I can't take a hint. Good night_. There was a dull murmur, and then Thorn added sleepily, _And she drools, too…_

Murtagh looked down, a small grin touching his lips. He inhaled slowly, letting his rigid muscles relax. He could feel Eragon's gaze on him, startled and worried. "Murtagh? Are you all…"

"I'm fine." His voice was under control, now—not angry, but devoid of emotion. "Did you have something you wanted to say? Otherwise, go away."

It was Eragon's turn to flinch. "What happened to you?" he asked, his voice gaining a touch of desperation. "What has Galbatorix done to—"

"Galbatorix has done _nothing_ to me," Murtagh snarled, his patience breaking with an almost audible _snap_. "You want to know why I won't crawl onto my knees and lick your boots, Eragon? You want to know why I'm not weeping with delirious joy that you've 'rescued' me? I'll tell you why—there is _nothing_ for Thorn or me in this world." He stopped, breathing hard. "You with your pretty lies, your laughing face—you stand there and speak to me of friendship, of _acceptance_? I want none of it, Eragon. Not now, not ever. I find that in the end, they're all lies."

"So you want self-pity," Eragon said heatedly, getting red in the face. "All you can do is wallow in your own, 'oh, nobody loves me' and wail about it to the world? What happened to you? What happened to the Murtagh I knew? You were different, once. You had ideals, and goals, and—"

"That Murtagh _died_," Murtagh spat. "All everyone cares for is their own personal gain, in one form or another. I won't play the game anymore, Eragon. I am _tired_ of the deception and the deceit. Say what you like. Say that I'm a coward, a weakling. Do you really think names matter so much in this world?"

"So you think you can just, just walk away," Eragon snapped. "Just turn your back upon this world and skip off to some nice deserted island out there where you can set up a living as a hermit. You _can't_. One way or another, you will have to choose. Are you so willing to die for Galbatorix—"

"Why should I choose _you_?" Murtagh hissed softly. "What tie of loyalty do you have upon me?"

The words hung in the air between them, thick and heavy. Eragon was white even in the darkness, his face pale with shock. "Is that your choice, then?" he whispered finally. "To side with Galbatorix? A willing lackey, like your father?"

"_Our _father, you slimy git," Murtagh said, the words slipping out before he knew it. He froze, his words echoing dully in the air—"_Our father_…"

He sucked in his breath sharply, whirling away from Eragon. Our father. The words had an undeniable echo about them—Eragon…brother.

"We're brothers," he said, staring uncomprehendingly into the darkness. He turned back to Eragon, who was looking pale and apprehensive. "Aren't we? Is that true?"

Eragon nodded, uneasy. "How is that such a—"

"What else is there?" Murtagh muttered softly, gripping the bedpost for support. "What _else_? We are—how can this be—_Eragon_—"

"Murtagh—" Eragon began, looking alarmed.

"Don't." Murtagh's voice was soft, almost a plea now. His gaze flicked to Eragon's face and away—if this was true, then what else? His dreams? What about the dark one, who was he? The man in the shadows, the nightmare?

His knees collapsed underneath him; Murtagh found himself sitting on the floor, his breath sharp and disjointed. Eragon's face was before him in a flash, worried. "Murtagh?" he seemed to be saying, his voice faraway. "Murtagh, what's wrong—?"

"How did we meet, Eragon?" he said, his own voice indistinct and desperate. "There was somebody else—old, white beard—"

"Brom," Eragon said quickly.

"Brom. And the elf. Her name? We brought her from Gil'ead, didn't we? Gil'ead—"

"Arya. She brought you here. Look, Murtagh, you're—"

"Shut up," Murtagh said softly, staring blindly at the ceiling. They were so close, teasing at the edges of his memory. Just a little more could break the shell open, bring everything back…

He felt Eragon's hand touch his face, and Eragon's mind brush against his. Thorn was awake, too, all of a sudden, his mind sharp and filled with excitement. _Helgrind!_ he shouted. _The Burning Plains, Saphira, Arya—_

"_Galbatorix!_" Murtagh screamed, feeling a blazing pain explode through his spine, rippling up into his skull. He gasped sharply, hearing the emperor's voice in his head, as smug as a hunter who had cornered its prey—_You can never hide from me, Brikijae Knivarya_...

_What did you do to me? Why did you—_

_Oh, stop whining. It had to be done. I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did, actually, considering that your dragon had to interrupt me in the middle of it. It took me so long to find you, Murtagh. Why did you go? You know you can't hide from me._

_How—_Murtagh whispered, helpless within Galbatorix's grasp.

_It's a spell. An interesting spell, one that I plan to perfect next time I lay my hands on you. Be a good boy and wait for me, would you? I'll see you when you wake_—

The fire raced down his throat, burning its mark into every inch of his skin. It was almost a relief when the darkness came.

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**Boohahaha! Fear me! Ooh. Scawy…**

**Next chapter features Orca! Orca and Anil and Llynis as they go kick Galbatorix's butt, save Murtagh and the world, and have the biggest beer blast Alagaesia has ever seen! WH00T! OH YEAH!**

…**or something like that. Then again, Orca and Anil are minors…X.x Okay, forget the beer. They can have soda pop. Mmmm…SPRITE!**

**Happiness! Plot bunnies are YUMMY! Like the fast update? Want more? REVIEW! YAYYYYYYYY!**

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**Embry: **Thanks! It's so much FUN when brothers get together and start yelling their heads off. So touching! –sniff-

**October Morning**: -laughs- Oh yeah, I can totally imagine me going, "Hey, Murtagh, I'm going to put in you back in Galbatorix's torture chamber, but hey, here's a cookie to keep you happy." XD I'm not wiping him out for good, ohh no (love him WAY TOO MUCH TO DO THAT!) but I fear his life ain't too happy…

**Dreamgirlhoo**: -waves chocolate bar hypnotically- Come towards the chocolate...HEAR THE CALL OF THE CHOCOLATE! MMmmmMMM! And it's Dove chocolate, too, which is positively the best chocolate in the WORLD!

**Coffee Grounds**: 0.o Italian pizza? Wonder Bread? Darest I say thou art getting a little peckish? DON'T EAT MATTES! BACK AWAY FROM THE SPY, YOU CAN'T EAT HIM...(yet)…

**Crystalline Sunset**: Aww, thank you! That's a very pretty penname, by the way. Yeah, Galby/Llynis was born out of a really, really, _really_ sadistic sense of humor. X.x I just find it absolutely hilarious…

**Tenshi, the light of hope**: My sporks are more than ninja sporks. They are masters of every single martial art ever invented, as well as being quite adept at weaponry, bombs of every sort, bows and arrows, lasers, and weird little fiddly things that nobody has invented yet. They are The Sporkdom and every other spork in the world has to bow down to them. FEAR THEM! BWAHAHAHA!

God, I'm sugar high.

**Fredsonetrueluv**: Orrin was always a little, you know, -whispers- not quite right in the head. –shifty eyes- But don't tell him that, he might chop my head off.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: EEK! DUST! DUST! –brandishes vacuum cleaner- OHMYGOD, I'M A CHRONIC NEAT FREAK AND YOU SENT ME **DUST! **–faints-

I made my plot bunnies EAT them! Eat them! Bwahaha! And then they had tummy aches, and made me sad. They became grumpy though, and they bit me all over. So in a way, they _did_ help my plot skip along. X.x

**Ariel32**: Did I say that? Did I say winter/summer vacation? I meant winter/spring vacation. Okay, the school calls it 'winter' vacation, but I'm like, NO WAY, this is NOT winter vacation. Basically, the school year is cut into two main semesters, with three testing blocs in each and a nice long vacation in between…it's complicated and stuffs. My head gets dizzy just thinking abou' it…

**Coolhassan**: 0.o Ookay...I'm kind of tallish for my age, I guess...black hair, dark brown eyes...I mean, just the normal features you'd expect off an Asian. Nothing special, especially since acne is attacking with a vengeance currently. XP

**Lady Elora**:P I totally stole your review and morphed it into this chapter. Don't you just love it when the brothers get together and duke it out? Feel the love! O.o

**BlindSeer220**: It's kind of complicated, really. Or not. Depends. I meant to say winter/spring vacation...basically, the school year is cut into two ginormous semesters, with a month-long winter/spring vac and about two months of summer vacation. Which means NINE months of utter, sheer misery in between. Oh, the pain. OH, THE FRICKIN' PAIN!

**XladyXofXsorrowsX**: It's kind of weird, really. I started off with a kind of mild attitude towards Eragon—I mean, he's an idiot, but I would be sad if he died. And now I'm all like, "OMG, Murtagh _TOTALLY PWNS_ you—" italics and all. It's weird how fanfiction can influence you like that. Same goes for Arya—too many tales of her Mary-Sueness completely killed any love I have for her. I plan to make her die a very tragic, very MS death. Then again, I'm evil. X.x

**Reading-Girl56**: Oh, wow, that's okay. I mean, I wasn't angry or anything like that. I hardly ever get angry. Unless someone flames me…then I send Thorn to eat them. Bwahaha. Incidentally, are you British? You spell 'apologize' with a 's'. Just curious.

**Shiibuya**: Thanks! Yeah, I'll be kind of sad when the third book comes out (if it ever does, that is…) because that means the fanfic community will kind of die after a couple months. It's so SAD...

**Treeonfire13**: I don't like Eragon; I think he's a royal GIT! Thus, I may be just a wee bit prejudiced…Eragon-lovers, BEWARE!

Besides, he's a pwetty elf now. Can't blame him if he looks kind of girly, can you?

**Alsdssg**: OOH!

That's a really good idea! I mean, I'd have to change the summary from 'kind-of-but-not-really-sequel' to just plain ol' sequel, but what DID happen to Rina and Ides? I think I may feel something coming along…-shifty eyes-

**Rock Not War**: Thanks!

**NOW REVIEW, PPLS, OR I'LL SEND MY PLOT BUNNIES TO EAT YOU! AND THEY ARE SUGAR HIGH! BWAHAHAHAHA!**


	17. Nothing Important Happened Today

**Warning: lousy chapter ahead…**

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In a corner of the room, the Woman was shifting restlessly in her sleep, emitting these soft moans every once in a while that were really quite irritating. Beside him, Orca lay with her fingers entwined around one of his tail spikes, staring listlessly up at the ceiling.

He could feel her worry and irritation like shadows, muted within his mind. With a sigh, Anil shifted position, careful not to impale her by accident. _Orca_, he said, exasperated, _This isn't going to help!_

Her only answer was something like a shrug. Anil sighed, shaking his head slowly. _It's been over a week, Orca...the Man has been helping to look for him, and you know he hasn't heard anything._

Anil trailed off, watching as Orca sat up, nudging aside her covers. He cocked his head, surprised and annoyed by this latest development. _Where are you _going he said sharply, sitting up. _You know how the Man doesn't like us walking around alone, especially at night. Not—not without Murtagh there..._

She ignored him. Opening the door (with a little difficulty, as the doorknob was above her head), she padded out of the room.

Anil grimaced. Orca in the mood didn't listen to anybody—not the Man, not the Woman, not even him. Not to Murtagh. Mostly.

He had to be strong for her.

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Murtagh's room had been mostly untouched ever since his disappearance, except for the remains of two smoldering blankets that had been the result of the Man's temper tantrum. Anil followed Orca into the room, his tail twitching uneasily. _Orca—_he started.

She gave him the _look_, and Anil shut up with a tired sigh. Carefully, he helped Orca up onto the expansive double bed, jumping up beside her. The bed still had the faintest traces of his familiar smell—the pine taste of forest, mostly, with the lightly acid tang of the sword.

Speaking of the sword…

Zar'roc lay under the bed, the sword firmly within the scabbard. Anil leapt off the bed, pawing underneath it with a little difficulty—he was getting rather big by now, and the bed rocked slightly as he dug underneath it. Carefully, he pulled the sword out, unsheathing it with an undignified scramble of fang and tail.

Orca watched him unmovingly as he held the sword up, letting it catch the dim moonlight. A pensive sigh came through their connection, and then she rolled over and disappeared from view.

Anil squinted along the length of the blade, admiring the sharp point. _Pretty_, he said wistfully before putting the blade delicately on the ground. It lay there, perfect and deadly.

He'd have to be careful not to step on it in the morning.

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It was dark, without any sign that dawn was about to come. Anil flicked an eye open drowsily, vaguely puzzled—was somebody just here?

There didn't appear to be anybody—the room was empty, anyhow. With a sigh, Anil closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

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Morning dawned, bright and dreary. Another day of sitting around, moping, and staying out of the Man's way. What fun.

Anil sighed, already dreading it. He slumped full length across the double bed, letting his head drop over the side. _Orca,_ he prodded. _Time to get...eh? _

He'd left it on the ground yesterday, didn't he? Zar'roc—the sword—was missing. And despite the surprising number of objects in the world that could, swords did not get up and walk out by themselves. _What…_? he managed, shaking his head hard. WHAT? _Orca, get up! The sword's gone._

Her response amounted to something like this: What sword? Go Away. Ask me later. Zzzz. And then it fizzed off as Orca promptly fell asleep again. Anil shook his head with annoyance, bounding off the bed and prowling around the room frantically. The sword. Where was the stupid _sword_?

_Orca!_ he snapped, pawing at her. _Get up! The sword's gone! I'm not _kidding!

A sleepy murmur came through, but Anil could tell Orca hadn't actually heard what he was saying. He gritted his teeth, and with a deft flick of his tale, yanked the covers off. Orca sat bolt upright, a scowl on her face as the cold morning air invaded the bed.

_Good. You're awake. Get up. Help me find the stupid sword. I think somebody took it—I mean, I heard somebody, anybody. I think I did. Maybe. Anyway, Orca, get UP! We have to find that stupid sword—_

Shut up.

Anil shut up as the firm order came down their link—not in words, but in a very definite sense of annoyance. Orca gave a cursory glance at the very empty tiles, a slight frown crossing her face. Maybe the Man took it. Who knows? Don't worry…

_I'm not worrying! _Anil yelled. _I'm just—not happy. Orca, come on. That sword was—well, it's just the kind of thing that you can't really throw away and not care about—_

Orca ignored him, a dull sigh trickling through their link. Anil gritted his teeth, hissing softly. _Sure. Fine. Whatever. No need to worry about missing swords and midnight visitors, because none of it matters to you._

Yes, that's right. Orca's mind was firm on this as she got up, swung the door open, and padded out.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Llynis hurried down the halls, her face pale. Nobody cared to stop her; she bore an almost visible mark of isolation as Galbatorix's latest sex toy—subject to his rages and whims, and much easier to just ignore.

Likewise, Llynis ignored them, her mind set only on one goal as she pounded frantically on Galbatorix's door. "Galbatorix?" she cried, her voice wavering as she pressed a palm to the wood. "Galbatorix, please come out. _Please!_"

There was an ominous pause, then the door swung open to reveal Galbatorix in a bathrobe, his eyes narrowed. "What _is_ it, Llynis?" he said coldly.

"I'm worried," she said softly, tears welling up in her eyes. "_Please_, Galbatorix," she gasped. "Don't leave me. I know you're in a hard time in your life. But that doesn't matter, because I can help you—"

Galbatorix glared at her, his expression annoyed. "Llynis—" he began.

"No!" Llynis cried, seeing that he was about to leave her—abandon her, forget her. She couldn't let him slip away, couldn't let him throw her away. Her life without him seemed barren, stripped of any value. She _needed_ him. Impulsively, she reached out and grabbed his hand. "_Don't_."

Galbatorix pulled away sharply, a sneer of cold distaste on his lips as he wiped his hand slowly and deliberately on his shirt. "I don't want you, Llynis," he said softly, every word vicious with acid. "You were nothing but a distraction, a diversion. I don't want you; _you are nothing_."

He slammed the door in her face. Llynis was left gaping helplessly at the door, tears spilling down her cheeks. She had given herself to him, and he had taken and taken and _taken_, until finally there were only holes—broken fragments, the pieces lost to darkness.

She fled down the hall, unable to see for the tears.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Derek pushed his way through the mass of servants that hovered near the window, babbling and clucking amongst themselves like a flock of geese. They were all whispering about something, their heads bobbing up and down as they gossiped.

He tapped a friend of his on the shoulder, asking softly, "What's going on?"

The woman turned, shaking her head sadly. "She's dead, Derek. That woman? Galbatorix's latest consort? Jumped off the roof and hung herself." She clucked her tongue softly, gesturing at the window. "Shame. Poor lass was too stupid to know not to get ensnared in our Majesty's games."

Derek glanced out the window—Llynis's face stared back at him, grotesque and swollen from the heat of day. Turning slightly, he saw Orca from the corner of his eye—the little girl glanced him momentarily before turning and hurrying back down the steps.

He started after her, but stopped as he saw a figure detatch itself from the wall, sliding after her. Blinking, he shook his head—green? It was like a giant dog, but shiny, somehow…well, never mind. It was probably a hallucination or something.

It wasn't his business, Derek decided, and slid back into the crowd.

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**My god. I really, sincerely hate this chapter. It was hard to write despite two chocolate bars that I guzzled earlier, and it still is. I hate it so damn much that I could cry. I hope—I _pray_ that my muses will return to me and make the next chapter better, because this sucks. It sucks to the godforsaken pits of hell, curse their pointy tails…**

**Chinese New Year's is coming up, too, which means some serious feasting, visting, and reunion-ing going on. If you can, send me some plot bunnies! I need them so badly. Have I mentioned that I've had a case of sickening writer's block? **

**Even though this chapter sucks and I haven't been the best about updating lately, I do hope you'll continue to review…because if you don't I'll cry…**

**I'm really depressed right now, sorry. I'll get better. Later. After all these goddamn hormones are gone…**

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**Dreamgirlhoo**: Nope, sorry, guzzled it all in an attempt to get some blood sugar going. X.x Not that it worked, may I add…

**Ariel32**: Yeah, but being on vacation means that the vacation has to be _fun_, don't it? Ah, don't listen to me—I'm majorly depressed right now, with the prospect of a flurry of invitations, dinners, and temple worshipping in store for New Year's. Fun…not.

**Boomeantalist**: Thanks. Here's a hankie, don't swoon on me…

**Rock Not War**: My plot bunnies all died of rabies. Quite tragic, really. As a result, I have no inspiration. Zilch. Zippo. None.

**October Morning**: I miss the good ol' days of sugar highs. –sigh- But yes, I do hope that with next chapter I'll be able to switch back to Murtagh. I may even break my rule and take another canon character's POV…

**Embry**: They didn't precisely kick ass, now did they? More like, toodled around and played with Zar'roc.

**BlindSeer220**: O.o Wow, that's extreme. Nah, I don't wanna kill Eragon. Just torture him and make his life a living hell. And of course, lots of angst with Murtagh…

**Coolhassan**: It's the New Year's. You had winter vac for Christmas, and now it's my turn…for Christmas, people here are like, "Wow. It's Christmas. Ha. Oh. Merry Christmas, now get back to work." New Year's is the Big Thing here.

**Treeonfire13**: I hope Paolini drops the Arya/Eragon thing he's trying to build. It doesn't work; she's like fifty zillion times older than he is. He IS a lovesick puppy dog…

**Dark Zeroph**: Me, too. If Paolini makes Murtagh die, I'll kill him. I'll rip out his guts…same for an Arya/Eragon romance, because that's just lame. Bachelordom for Eragon is a GOOD thing.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: I'll have to plan an Arya death. If that's the ONE thing I'm ever going to get done, it will be killing off Arya. It has to be nice and Mary-Sueish, though, as in very heroic.

**Crystalline Sunset**: Yeah, I know, that was mean of me. I just didn't want to resort to the predictable, as in Murtagh has a change of heart and joins the Varden, etc. etc. I've left Thorn conscious, though, just to make things fun…

**Alsdssg**: Evil Galby always screws everything up. Die, you –censored-. –stabs-

**Courtnay**: Oh, come on. CP's not THAT bad. Admittedly, his writing's a little dull and quite a few of his characters need a life. But honestly, he's pretty good…

**Fredsonetrueluv**: Well, considering that CP hasn't even given Thorn a personality, it's a little hard to say if Saphira/Thorn would work. My guess is, though, Saphira has to be saved for the green dragon (whose Rider will probably be Arya) just so Eragon and Arya can engage in a big love thing.

**Coffee Grounds**: Ooooh, randomness! O.o Are we a little cwazy today, mmmm? Don't worry, I'll get you a psychiatrist and a nice dose of Murtagh-ness. MmmMMM! –hands you chocolate- And an extra spleen, while we're at it…

**Review…I guess. x.x**


	18. Considering Calculations

**Lots of ThornySaphire here…**

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_10/21/101_

_Early_

The link shuddered violently as pain shot through Murtagh's mind, throwing the backlash onto Thorn's and sending the world into a chaos of color. The red dragon reared, screaming with rage as fire raked out of his throat and exploded violently into the field. _Stupid!_ he raged, clawing the ground viciously with his talons. _Stupid, stupid—_

_Control yourself!_ Saphira shouted. _Calm down—_

He turned onto her, eyes blazing. _Control myself? _Control myself?_ Why, you stuck-up little—little—don't you tell me to control myself! I'd like to see how you'd react if Galbatorix ripped up _your_ precious little Rider—_

Saphira slammed into him, her talons crushing his tail underneath her weight. _Calm down,_ she said, her voice cold. _We'll get this sorted out—_

_Like _hell_ you will!_ Thorn bellowed, fighting to get out from underneath the heavier Saphira. _He was just fine before your lot got your filthy fingers on him! It's always you, always Eragon! He always fights for you, and gods only know why because you sure as hell don't deserve it!_

_I don't recall Arya telling me _you_ threw a fit when she proposed this plan to you,_ Saphira spat, her talons digging painfully into his side. _You're a hypocrite to say otherwise, you filthy—_

_I was _trying_ to do what was best, to give him peace!_ Thorn shrieked, furious beyond all reason as he clawed at her neck. It _was _his fault, really, but he'd rather die than admit that to anybody. Even to himself, and certainly not to this disgusting female dragon… _But no, _he continued viciously,_ your stupid ninny of a Rider had to go and—_

"_Stop!_"

Thorn and Saphira stopped, their heads whipping around simultaneously to glare indignantly at the interrupter. Arya stood a few feet away, seemingly unaffected by the blazing grass around her—"Shame!" she cried, her voice sharp and ringing. "Bickering, the two of you, like dogs over a scrap of meat. What happened to the dignity of the dragons? The two of you, last remnants of the proud dragon race, to be reduced to this display of brutality?"

There was a shocked, furious pause as they digested this statement. Grumbling to herself and trying to seem nonchalant, Saphira pulled out of the tangle. _He started it,_ she stated, her dignity rather spoiled by the death glare she was sending the smaller dragon.

_As if,_ Thorn began, ready to launch into another round of insults when Arya sent him a look that could melt diamond. He settled for a series of mutinous grumbles, staring petulantly around the burning field. _I want to see Murtagh,_ he said at last, trying to sound as unconcerned as possible but largely failing.

Arya sighed and pressed her fingers to her temples, looking pained. "I'm afraid that will have to wait."

_For what?_ Thorn demanded sharply.

Arya's emerald eyes met his, and he felt the sharp flush of magic explode into the air as the fires surrounding them began to ebb away. Thorn winced away from the ground, startled as it began to grow mushier and swampier—Arya was summoning up the underground water, putting the fires out. It was effective, but gave off an unpleasant smell that reeked of dung.

"There," she said at last as the last of the fires died with a fading gasp. "That will do." She inhaled deeply and shook her head, letting her hands fall to her sides. "Now. Thorn. What was that you said?"

Ignoring the condescending glare of Saphira, Thorn said coldly, _Murtagh. Where is he?_

"What do you know so far?" Arya asked calmly.

_I know Galbatorix found him, and I think he's unconscious. Other than that, nothing. I want to _see_ him_.

Arya pursed her lips, apparently thinking it over. Turning, she gazed pointedly over the field, where crowds of humans were gathering to watch the show at a safe distance. "Fortunately, I put out that fire quickly enough. This field can still be planted next year." She turned to look at Thorn, gaze calm and direct. "You must learn to control your temper."

Thorn inhaled, preparing to fire off another scathing comment when Arya interrupted him. The pained expression was back on her face, as if she had a migraine. "No, don't say anything," she said quickly. "I'd rather not hear it." She paused. "But as for news of Murtagh, we must wait for Eragon to come."

_Why?_ Thorn demanded sharply.

"Because he is with Murtagh and knows of his current condition. In the meantime, I suggest you learn patience, too."

Thorn ground his teeth, but stilled at the distinctly murderous glares of Saphira and Arya as both of them turned to look at him ever so slightly.

_He'd better not drag his feet, then_, Thorn snarled in token protest as he settled down to wait.

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Being a servant was very useful, Mattes decided as he rushed into the sickroom. It was chaos, despite being so early in the morning—people were shouting, servants were running around with basins of water, other servants were offering some wine to the Blue Rider, while more servants were trying to shoo other servants out and maintain some semblance of order.

Perfect.

Joining one of the wine-offerers, Mattes got a good look at what was going on. The Red Rider had been hoisted onto one of the beds, his face smoothed out in sleep. He seemed flushed, almost, with sweat on his face and a red tinge to his cheeks.

The Blue Rider seemed to be in the exact opposite condition—he was pale, his eyes huge and agitated as he tried to stand up. "Enough!" he cried in a cracked voice, swatting the latest offering of wine away. "All of you—just—get—out!"

There was a bunch of mutinous grumbling; Mattes joined in. "But my lord—" "Sir—" "Maybe just _one_ sip—" "You can't be well after—"

"_Be quiet!_" Eragon roared. In a quieter, but infinitely more venomous voice, he said, _"Leave. Me. Alone_."

Subdued, the servants filtered out. Mattes dragged out the moment, collecting all the leftover wineskins and basins of water, trying to see what he could. He was the last one out the door—closing it, he saw a glimpse of Eragon Shadeslayer pulling up a chair next to the sleeping Red Rider, his expression pensive and quiet.

Mattes slouched away, keeping his face as disappointed as everyone else's when in reality his heart was thumping painfully in his chest. What happened to Morzan's son? If he could find out, maybe Galbatorix would double his reward. He could become the leader of the Black Hand, lord it over the other spies. He could _be_ someone to fear, to know...

He sighed, shaking himself out of his pleasant daydreams. That would have to wait, unfortunately. With a sour twist to his mouth, Matiel headed towards the servants' quarters, where he could be left alone in peace to scry them.

His head was down, focusing on the ground with such concentration that he didn't notice when he bumped head-on into somebody. Spluttering, Matiel stumbled, rolling like an ungainly stork and biting back a curse. "Uh—my lady!" he said, jumping to his feet. "My lady Nasuada! What—uh—what brings you here—"

Nasuada gave him that abstracted look he knew so well—the look that means they're trying to place your name, but just can't manage it. Mattes smiled inwardly—he had that effect on people. "Karis, my lady," he said, giving a deep bow.

"Yes—Karis," Nasuada said, looking relieved. "Carry on as you were. I apologize for bumping into you." She smiled at him vaguely before looking away, clearly focused on something else.

Mattes watched her with a wistful sigh as she walked away, noting the light sway of her hips and her shapely figure. It'd never struck him before just how _young_ she was, for a leader of the Varden. Not just a warrior, but a woman, too...

He bit his lip and shook his head sharply, trying to clear the uncharacteristic thoughts out of his head. Now was not the time to chase women. It was _never_ the right time to chase women. Most of them didn't notice him, anyway, so any affections he might have had in the past were unreturned.

If I were somebody to fear, though...she'd notice me then.

The thought slipped into his head slyly, sending goosebumps that weren't entirely unpleasant rippling down his spine. Mattes allowed himself the luxury of a smile before he stowed the thought away, to be pored over some happier time.

In the meantime, he had work to do.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Thorn dozed in and out of the day, pointedly ignoring Saphira as the day wore on. Saphira seemed content to ignore him as well, and time trudged on in a weary silence. Arya was there as well, the pained look returning every once in a while as she heaved a tired sigh.

Eragon certainly took his time coming. It was late afternoon by the time he came around, huffing and puffing as he slogged his way through the thick mud. "Arya!" he panted. "You heard?"

"Of course," the elf said, inclining her head slightly. "What news do you have of Murtagh? Thorn here is noticeably anxious to know."

Eragon visibly winced as Thorn swung his glare onto him, flinching a little from the cold red stare. Gathering himself together with an encouraging growl from Saphira, he said, "He's...stable. If you can call it that. Nothing I have tried will bring him into consciousness again, nor can I receive any sort of message from his unconscious like I did with you, Arya, when you were poisoned. I fear...I fear Galbatorix has somehow locked his mind, keeping him out of our reach."

"And nothing can be done?" Arya said softly, keeping a watchful eye on Thorn.

"Nothing I can do. I was hoping that with yours and the elves' assistance, we could lift the bind that Galbatorix has over him." Eragon hesitated, then turned to Thorn. "Do you know of the spells, if any, that Galbatorix might have used? What kind of magicks he may have tried to wield?"

Thorn eyed him balefully, of half a mind to flame him on the spot and be done with it. Sensing his intention, Saphira shifted slightly closer, a low growl issuing from her throat.

Regretfully, he stifled the impulse. _Spells and magic are Murtagh's study, not mine_, he said finally. _Galbatorix did try...I can't tell you the specifics, but I think it was some sort of..._Here he hesitated, unsure of how far he was willing to go. Even if these Varden people did have good intentions, they might only plunge Murtagh into further pain...

He sighed, scratching slowly at the ground. Eragon's eyes were sharp and intense, the expression on his face almost exactly the same as Arya's—anxious, but politely holding back their impatience. Saphira had no such qualms—_Well?_ she inquired, her voice sweetly condescending.

That did it. Thorn shut up instantly, determined never to tell that female bitch anything. _Ever_. Seeing the mutinous look in his eyes, Arya said softly but quickly, "It may be the only way we can even attempt lifting the spell, Thorn. Without it, we will be simply guessing."

Thorn was unconvinced. Arya hesitated, then said gently, "It may be the only way we can save him, Thorn. Don't hurt him for the sake of revenge."

Sigh.

Grudgingly, Thorn conceded the point. _Very well,_ he said wearily. _Galbatorix did some sort of memory spell on him. Erased his memory, tried to remold his character. I interrupted in the middle of it and threw it out of joint, but for months Galbatorix has been feeding him...stories. His point of view. Trying to make Murtagh a willing servant._

He paused, then continued almost defensively, _And it worked, sort of. Galbatorix didn't hurt him anymore. Once Murtagh accepted, or Galbatorix _thought_ he had accepted the truth from his view, their relationship changed. More father, son. Until _you_ came_, he fired accusingly at Arya, jabbing the tip of his tail at her.

Arya opened her mouth to say something; Eragon shot her a look. She desisted gracefully, turning it into a half-cough. "Murtagh _was_ a little odd," Eragon said thoughtfully. "He seemed shocked to realize that Morzan was our father, and had to ask me who Brom was, and how we met. I suppose they were triggered somehow, if the memory spell was incorrectly done."

"It takes a lot of power and finesse to do it," Arya said, her voice quiet and harsh. "It should not have been done_ at all_. It is the worst violation of soul, a despicable act that he will pay for." She looked icily out into the distance, her jaw set. "It was the right thing to do, Thorn, to take him from a man who would do such an act."

Thorn made no comment to this last statement, tactfully biting back the words he wanted to say. Eragon turned to her, looking startled. "It can be done, then? I was never taught such a thing."

"It is not a thing we would teach," was her quiet reply.

Eragon seemed contented by this answer, a troubled expression settling over his face. Finally, he looked up, addressing Thorn directly. "We will assemble a team of elves, Thorn, to try and cure Murtagh's condition. We won't let any harm befall him; you have our promise on that. In the meantime, you must swear to keep the confines of the Varden stronghold here, under constant supervision by Saphira. Do you agree?"

Thorn gritted his teeth at the last statement, and Saphira seemed equally disgruntled. Eragon's eyes narrowed as Saphira undoubtedly started ranting in his head, telling him how she didn't want to babysit some spoiled dragon or sommat like that. Thorn snorted, staring cynically out into the distance as Saphira growled in argument, shaking her head before emitting a grumpy sigh of defeat.

_Very well,_ she said coldly to him. _Don't think I'll enjoy it._

_That makes two of us, doesn't it?_ he snapped back before turning to Eragon. _I will swear if you will_.

Eragon raised a hand and swore in the ancient language. When he was done to Thorn's satisfaction, Thorn in turn bowed his head and swore to the conditions Eragon had set.

_So that's that,_ he thought to himself as elf and Rider turned and left, leaving the two dragons alone on the field.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Matiel sighed, leaning his head wearily against the wall. They'd made the room impregnable, somehow, impossible to scry. All he got were glimpses as the door opened and closed, breaking momentarily the matrix of spells that surrounded the room.

He stared glumly at the basin of water, stirring the surface with one hand. Almost unbidden, the Lady Nasuada rose to his mind, a temptation in red velvet. Mattes sighed softly, then abruptly jerked to life as he forced himself to focus. Not now, Mattes, not now...

"Draumr kopa."

His treacherous lips spilled the words into the air, and the water obeyed. Rippling slowly, the water slowed to form the image of the Lady Nasuada. She was talking to somebody, her words inaudible—but that didn't matter; he could read lips. All good spies could.

"_So I don't know how long exactly, Orrin. He will be entirely the Varden's responsibility, I assure you. You needn't fear that he will—"_

Orrin? Curious, Matiel widened the image to show her surroundings. Sure enough, there was Orrin, throwing a fit as usual as he gestured wildly. _"And how exactly do you plan to keep that guarantee, Nasuada? I hardly see you as a savior should Galbatorix strike!"_

"_There are the elves, and there is Eragon. Between them, I should hope they can save Surda from destruction long enough for _you_ to flee. Calm down; there is no need for silly dramatics here."_

"_Dramatics? Dramatics?!"_ Orrin bellowed. _"Nasuada, I think we need to have a—"_

"_We do not need to have anything, Orrin. He will stay, and that is that. If you have any—"_

Mattes's shoulder flared suddenly with pain, and he jumped, stifling a soft yelp. Quickly, he wiped the image away, pulling up his sleeve fearfully to stare at the red burn that was welling there. It darkened slowly, settling in the shape of a hand—the Black Hand, Galbatorix's call for them...

Cursing softly under his breath, Matiel performed the summoning procedure as he slit his hand open, letting the blood drip into the water. It hissed softly as the water hit, boiling with a soft malevolence to reveal Galbatorix's face in the water. "Yes, your majesty?" he said, wishing that his voice was firmer.

"Mattes Henderson," Galbatorix said softly. "You did well bringing me the information concerning my Rider yesterday. I have a task for you, now. If you can fulfill it faithfully, your rewards will be great." He paused. "Will you?"

Mattes nodded, careful not to let his hesitation show. "Yes, your majesty."

As if he sensed Mattes's thoughts, Galbatorix smiled slightly—cruelly, Mattes thought. "I want you to continue to bring me information on the Rider's condition. Also tell me of the restrictions they will have undoubtedly placed about the red dragon. Also, tell me...tell me of the conditions and security around the lady Nasuada and the king Orrin. I want specifics, Mattes, down to the last man. Can you do that?"

Mattes nearly asked a question, but swallowed in just in time. "Wh—uh, yes, your majesty. I can do that."

Galbatorix's smile widened. "Good. Complete your tasks well, and I will reward you."

The water rippled and faded, returning to unbroken clearness once more. Mattes leaned against the wall, his eyes wide.

It wasn't his position to disobey, or even to question. But this request—it was odd, since Galbatorix must've already have more than enough information concerning Nasuada, Orrin, and Surda in general. Why specifics? What did he want to...anyway.

It was odd, that's all.

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Inside Uru'baen, Galbatorix leaned back from the basin of water, his brow wrinkled in thought. He sighed slowly, tapping the basin with one long finger.

He'd had a long debate with himself, trying to figure out what to do. Murtagh was in Varden hands, and although Galbatorix had disabled him for the time being, there was no telling that kinds of hidden folklore the elves might have found to counteract it. As far as he could tell, he had three options: leave him there, send someone to retake him, or do it himself.

The first option he instantly rejected. Murtagh was his. Besides, it was a risk, letting him stay in the Varden's grasp—maybe somehow, he could be woken up and turned. It was hard, anyway, doing magic at a distance. So that left options two and three.

Sending someone was unreliable. It was a long distance to Surda from Uru'baen, any of a dozen things might happen—ambush, double-crossing, accidents, natural disasters...he'd considered forcing the dragon to bring him back, but Thorn would surely resist. Besides, one lone dragon couldn't fight against a dozen spellcasters and a Rider.

Option three sounded more feasible, but once again there were snags. For one, there was the girl to be considered. There was no one he could trust to keep her from corruption during his absence, no one that he could rely on to keep her his. He could bring her along, but that dragon of hers was young, too young for a long-distance flight. He would surely tire, and hamper progress greatly.

For a long time it seemed as if Galbatorix were deadlocked, unable to choose a safe path. It took him a while before another thought had risen to mind—_make the people give him up_.

One man—idiocy. Weak, fragile, easily swayed. A _mob_, though—a mob was everything. A mob was the voice of influence, a power that could not be denied. Control the mob, you control the world. Make them think that Murtagh was bad luck, that he would bring their destruction upon them. Let them know the truth—that Eragon was Morzan's son, that his blood was tainted with the taste of the empire.

Then promise them their salvation, bought at the price of one man's return. Simple as that—give him back, and all your problems go away. They would accept it, he was sure. Given enough time and disaster, they would crumble.

Easy.

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** I'm happy. While not HAPPY! happy, I'm at the very least content.**

**This was a _long_ chapter. Seven pages, by my count. Okay, maybe not exactly _Atlas Shrugged_, but it's long by my standards. I'd appreciate it hugemongousthingy if you'd review. Please? Pretty please? –puppy eyes-**

**Oh, and before I forget. The lovely **Silver Pup** and I have been working on a joint fic on the account **Silverblizzard**. The story's called **Ice Petals**, and it's all about Selena running around and Morzan trying to get her back. Lots of fun, angst, and pointy swords. Hopefully, it'll be posted tomorrow cuz the thingy said that we had to wait three days before posting. X.x Anyway, come and read it! **

**(…oh, yeah. Before I forget. It's set in the same universe as the Roses/Ice trilogy. If you don't know what those are, check out our profiles…yeah, yeah, shameless self-promotion. O.o Hope to see you there!)**

**And now to review responses…**

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**October Morning**: I think it's the latter. O.o I don't know, I wanted to write from Orca's POV but that was just too _haaaard_. I wish I had a four-year-old sister. It's been _ages_ since I've been four years old. So I had to settle for Anil's POV, which I set as your basic sugarhigh peppy dragon…if there is such a thing…

**Ariel32:** I've been wanting to kill off Llynis for a long time. Wow, that sounded really heartless…-whistles- But yeah, ever since I decided she wasn't going to be the third Rider, I wanted to knock her off. Chocolate was received and accepted gratefully, thankees!

**Rock Not War**: Thanks. Llynis is such a ninny...without her darling Galby, everything just kinda crumbles. Oh, woe.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yeah, it's that time of the story again—too many characters, we gotta kill them all off. X.x I think the next one will be a canon character, though I'm not too sure. Perhaps Arya? Nah...not yet. Yet. –cue dramatic music-

I'm going to try to build a T&M tie-in. Don't know if it'll work too well, though.

**BlindSeer220**: Didn't they have chocolate in the good ol' Middle Ages? No? Well, the Aztecs had chocolate. :) Even if they did make it all spicy and stuffs. Yeah, I'm not too sure about the Derek angle. We'll see.

**Fredsonetruluv**: Yeah, well, Chinese New Year means cleaning. Lots and lots of cleaning! Can I say annoying, or what? Mom's full of plans; she's actually set aside a whole _Saturday_ that is going to be devoted to turning this house upside down. –winces- But at least there'll be food afterwards!

**Crystalline Sunset**: Thanks. Depression is gone, replaced by a rather Zen mood. I may take up meditation or somafinks. Seems to work out the more nutty aspects of my personality.

**Lady Elora**: Say, do you like slash fics then? I know there are some really great ones out there that make me squeal. It's starting to influence me a little, though I'll try my best to keep them straight...

ThornySaphire was fun to write. Love it when they bicker!

**Meep meep**: Tres merci, thanks!

**Treeonfire13**: Don't feel too bad. –pat pat- I've got pretty much the same ideas on Arya, though her death must be suitably noble. Anil's kind of bouncy, don't you think? Too cheerful. I've _gotta_ make something tragic happen to him...-shifty eyes-

**Coffee Grounds**: Llynis is very sad and is going to haunt you forever. Grr. –evil eye- Although, I daresay Orca is too busy stuffing her face in marshmallows to notice. S'mores, I say! Anil can provide the fire…

**Alsdssg**: Llynis twas' annoying. And I hope to use Zar'roc to tie in the next part of The Nonexistent Plot I have in mind…

**Review? Please? ThAnKs!**


	19. Draconian Snapshots

**Apologies, groveling, etc. are all below. –pokes-**

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_10/21/101_

_Surda_

_Around sunset_

Thorn and Saphira had reached a truce, of sorts, which mostly involved stony silence and lots of contemptuous glares when the other wasn't looking. Thorn, his head on his paws, glared at a distant tree as if it were the source of all his troubles. Behind him, there was yet another one of those disdainful sniffs that Saphira did so well.

_What now, your ladyship_? he asked scathingly, breaking the silence. _Perhaps I'm not sitting properly? _

_I think it's the fact that you exist in the first place_, she growled.

Thorn turned to face her, his eyes narrowing. _And what do you mean by that?_ he said, his voice lowering to a soft, sibilant hiss. _Jealous of your status as the only sane dragon in this side of Alagaesia? Or else maybe I don't conform to the brilliant standards you've set—_

A low growl issued from Saphira's throat—with alarming suddenness, she snapped at him, her teeth clacking within an inch of his muzzle. Instinctively, Thorn reared back, fighting—and barely controlling—the urge to breathe fire into her smug face. Not that it would do much good, but still.

Saphira's lip lifted, revealing teeth—then apparently, changing her mind, turned away disdainfully. Thorn stared incredulously at her back, then huffed softly in disgust. Saphira. _Urgh_.

He settled down, returning to staring at his tree. It hadn't changed much—it was more yellowy that before, maybe, with the sunset on it, but otherwise was just a tree. Ho hum.

Footsteps behind him made his turn around slightly, giving a soft sigh of half-anticipation and half-annoyance when he saw Eragon, his face illuminated with a gentle beauty with the setting sun. Eragon smiled tiredly upon seeing Saphira, giving her a light pat with his hand. She bent her head towards him, nuzzling his shoulders gently.

The sight made Thorn's heart ache. It should be _Murtagh_ doing that—Murtagh and him, not this stupid idiot and his stupid dragon. But no, Murtagh was lost in whatever hellish trance Galbatorix had forced onto him, and it was all his fault.

Or was he still?

_Any news?_ Thorn asked, trying to dampen down the sharp hope he felt rising up within him. Maybe the elves had managed to do something—break the trance, get him conscious, anything, everything. _Well?_

Eragon glanced at him, a slight frown crossing his face. He rubbed his face with his hands, looking tired. "Nothing yet. Sheer power doesn't seem to have any effect at all, and none of the spells we've tried so far work. We _have_ gotten a few things—shattered images, half-formed thoughts, but there's no evidence that he's actually awake in there. He seems to be...well, dreaming."

Thorn tapped his tail against the ground distractedly as he reached into his mind, feeling for Murtagh's connection. It was there—hard to find, but muted. Dull.

Asleep.

_Is there anything I can do to help?_ he said with a tired sigh, shaking his head irritably.

Eragon's expression softened slightly, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Thorn."

Thorn didn't respond to this comment, laying his head back onto his paws as he sank into a mass of half-depressed thoughts. _Maybe if I tried our connection the same time you shoved with your power?_ he said listlessly. _That might break it._

Eragon shrugged. Saphira swung her head towards him, her sapphire eyes dark and thoughtful.

_Right_, Thorn said, interpreting the look in their eyes. _I'll just shut up now, won't I? That'll serve you all best_. With a soft sigh of anger and misery, he curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.

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_10/21/101_

_Uru'baen_

_Late Night_

Getting in had been easy, and it was even easier to hide. The broad, sweeping scars they had left on her body were disguised under her shirt, and her face could carefully be schooled to remain still and unremarkable. Nobody knew her, after all—they were all dead.

It was dark, with just a sliver of moon showing through the glass window. Carefully, she slid out from behind the curtain, surveying the sleeping figures in the moonlight.

So, it wasn't just hallucinations after all. The third egg _did_ hatch.

A soft, bitter laugh escaped her lips involuntarily—wasn't it just stupid, to bring up a Rider but not the one they had planned for so long? A Rider under _Galbatorix..._her fists tightened. Bastard. Well, she'd show him. Show him her revenge for ruining her life, for killing off friends, comrades, and companions, for destroying what they had worked for...

She'd wanted to use the sword, but it was too big and unwieldy for her to do the job. Still, a knife would do just as well—and later, she could leave the sword stuck outside in front of the gates, the blade dripping red with blood. Any death after that would be worth it just to see the rage on his face.

By the bed, she paused slightly in doubt, a trace of conscience entering her half-crazed will. The girl was so _young_. A hero, a villain—who knew what she could be?

No matter. She could suffer a hero's death before her time. With a whispered prayer, Rina Onadatir brought the knife whistling down towards the girl's neck.

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_STOP!_ came the shriek, and a huge, crushing force bulled into her chest, driving her back painfully against the floor and cracking bones that were badly healed to begin with. _I knew it,_ continued the voice, sharp and furious. _I_ knew_ it. What the hell do you want? _

Rina gasped and floundered, dropping the knife as pain seared through her ribs. _How? _How could it have known? "Get off me!" she shrieked, her voice half-wild with panic and frenzy. "Goddamn witch-creature, get off me!"

A hissed growl came from the dragon, and Rina screamed as it pressed down, viridian eyes alight with fury. _You don't call me a witch-creature_, it snapped furiously. _How did you get in here, anyway? Who are you? Why were you trying to kill Orca?_

"It had to be done," she croaked, gasping for air underneath the dragon's weight. "It had to be. Another Rider, another king, another death! That's all there is! That's all there ever will be! It _must...be...done!_"

_I don't think so_, the dragon said coldly. _Who _are_ you, anyway? I've never seen you before_.

"It doesn't matter," Rina wheezed feebly, black beginning to eat at the edges of her vision. "It...doesn't..."

She choked feebly, resigning herself to death by being crushed under a dragon. Fate's joke on her.

_Oh, stop that,_ the dragon said irritably, rolling off of her. Her lungs freed, Rina sucked in air desperately, gasping and choking against the blood in her throat. The dragon watched her do so, his eyes slittered and curious. _Who are you?_

"It doesn't matter," Rina said weakly once she had the breath to do so. "Did it ever? No. No, no. No. _No_. It doesn't matter, doesn't care, doesn't, doesn't—"

_You sound like a parrot_, the dragon interrupted, sounding annoyed.

That statement made Rina laugh faintly, the motion causing blood to spurt into her mouth. She raised herself with an effort, staring at the green dragon's accusing eyes and those of the girl behind it. "Parrots? Parrots are all we are. Parrots for Galbatorix, parrots for the puppet-master. You, you and your girl, you're just pawns. Pawns in a puzzle, in a play. You should have let me kill her. You should. But now, you're just going to be used, used and, and, _nothing_."

The effort was too much—with a soft sigh, she dropped limply, her eyes falling shut as the breath left her body.

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Silently, Orca padded towards the woman. Placing two clumsy figures at the base of the neck, she frowned slightly. Contrary to appearances, the woman was alive. Whether that was good, bad, or just plain useless was left to be seen.

_So what now?_ Anil asked, his voice distinctly annoyed. _Do we call for a guard?_

Orca shrugged, sitting down on the ground and surveying the woman's face. What do you suppose she wanted?

_Who knows?_ Anil said, nosing her. _It got close there, though. Were you really asleep?_

Yes.

_Ah...good for you I stay alert, then. What should we do? She's going to die if she stays like this. We can't heal. Not yet. Can we?_

No.

_Then what?_

Orca sighed, laying her head in her lap. Anil watched her, feeling irritated and worried at the same time. _Look, we have to solve this ourselves,_ he cajoled her. _Murtagh's not here. We have to do something. Maybe the Man?_

The answer was something along the lines of a noncommittal shrug. Anil persisted, his voice growing more urgent. _Come on, Orca! Who, then? Are we just going to let her bleed out? The Woman's not here. Murtagh's not here, either. If you don't want the Man, we have to do it outselves. Who, then—_

Him.

Anil stopped, taken aback as an image of the Visitor appeared in his head. _Him_? he said sharply. _What does he have to do with anything?_

He can help. If nobody can.

_Why not the Man_?

The answer came in an uneasy stirring, a spark of some instinct that warned her away from the Man. Anil sighed, shaking his head in frustration. _Fine. I'll find him. He won't have seen me, though._

Doesn't have to remember. Just to help.

_Fine!_ Anil said furiously, unable to understand her stupid roundabout method of getting help. Snapping the door open with his tail, he stalked out of the room. In the doorway, he stopped.

_Aren't you coming?_

Orca looked up at him before glancing back at the woman on the floor. Getting up, she followed Anil out of the room.

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Derek was having a thoroughly unpleasant night, tossing and turning restlessly. For some reason, every single time he closed his eyes the image of Llynis would be there, hovering bloated and purple like some kind of curse.

A soft scratching noise on the door made him sit up, and for one frozen moment his mind spun, thinking that Llynis had come back to life and was busy banging on his door. It took all his nerve to get his legs moving, forcing himself out of bed and opening the door cautiously.

To his relief, no swollen Llynis was waiting outside his door. Instead, hs gaze was drawn downwards to where a small girl stood. "Orca," Derek said hesitatingly, unsure of the reason for the clandestine midnight visit. "What's wrong? Are you all right? Why are you here? I mean—I know Llynis's death must have hit you hard, but—"

He stopped, blinking hard as his eyes slid to the—the—_unbelievable—_dragon next to her. It was definitely there, all right, and fit neatly into the green blotch that his memory always seemed to conveniently blur out. "What?" he said slowly, his eyes growing wide. "A dragon?"

It seemed like a dream, almost, surreal. Carefully, he wet his lips and tried again, shifting his gaze back to Orca's face. "Orca?" he asked, his voice faint and wondering.

She studied him critically, her face flat and expressionless. Finally, she nodded just once.

The dragon beside her cocked its head, the eyes slitting slowly. _Hi,_ he said, sounding slightly disgruntled. _I'm Anil. Look, I don't know why Orca said so, but there's a bleeding woman on our floor and Orca said to find you. So we found you. Come help._

Derek remembered to close his gaping jaw, snapping it shut with an audible _click_. He nodded, feeling slightly woozy. "I see," he said at last. "Well, Orca...Anil..."

He smiled weakly at them, his mind racing. "A dragon...a woman? Um, I'm not a healer. I can't help—"

_Orca says you'd probably know somebody who is one_.

"Maybe I do," Derek said, still unable to believe that it wasn't all a dream. Still, if this was a dream, it was more pleasant than being awake, if a tad unrealistic. "A healer? Yes. A healer. Where's this woman again? The night infirmary is always open."

_In our room_, Anil said.

"In your...right. Right. Your room. Of course. Well, why not? Lead the way..."

Disbelievingly, he watched the dragon and girl walk down the hall and up the stairs, returning to towards quarters that he knew were definitely not Llynis's. If anything, it was probably for some count or earl or duke or _somebody_—rich and luxurious and—well—with an injured woman on the floor.

_Can you carry her alone?_

Derek hoisted the unconscious woman into his arms, glancing slowly back at the green dragon. "Uh, don't worry about that, Anil," he said uncomfortably. "I'll be fine. Why don't you two go back to sleep?"

Swinging open the door, he stumbled down the hall and back down the stairs on the secondary infirmary. His mind spun, but soon the haze settled over it again—by the time he got to the infirmary, he had already forgotten about the dragon.

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_So. The mighty red dragon, moping in a corner_.

Thorn opened one eye irritably, glaring at the speaker. It was a cat—kind of big, or not. Large pointy fangs curved over its jaw, and a light-colored shaggy mane hugged its face tightly. _You're a cat_, he said, annoyed at this latest trick that whoever up there was playing on him.

_Acute observation. I applaud your perspicacity._ The cat—or whatever—circled him, red eyes glowing slightly. _After meeting Saphira, I would've thought that all dragons were more than just sitters. They take action, don't they, your race? Wild and proud and free._

_Shut up_. Thorn closed his eyes again. _I'm not talking to a dream._

_Don't talk nonsense._ Four sharp swipes of pain flared in Thorn's nose, and he reared back with a yelp. The cat stood in front of him, its hackles up and lip curled. _You are a disgrace to the dragons_, it informed him coldly.

_Well, what else am I supposed to do?_ Thorn snapped back, stung.

_More than you'd be doing sitting here just moping. Get up! _

Thorn got to his feet, fuming. Looking around, he saw that he was still in Surda, but Saphira was nowhere to be seen. Odd, since he had sworn to stay around Saphira at all times. _Where is she?_ he wondered irritably. Swinging his head back to the cat, he added, _If I'm awake, that is._

_Feel your nose. _The cat sauntered onwards, nonchalant and cocky._ You can always stop. You can be as perfectly useless as you please. If not, there's somebody that I believe would like to meet you._

_And who is that mysterious somebody supposed to be?_ Thorn said irritably.

_A friend. _

What _friend?_ Thorn demanded, following the cat out of annoyed curiosity.

_Somebody who might be able to help. Somebody who moves through dreams like second nature. Somebody who your Rider has met before, and just might meet again if you're willing to go along._

_And who is this somebody?_ Thorn said sharply.

The cat turned back slightly to grin at him. _A colleague of mine, you might call her. Or else, the Dream Dancer. If you wish to be particularly casual, you may call her Maud. _

_Maud. Huh_. Thorn glanced around him; it seemed to be getting mistier and thicker. _Are you sure this isn't a dream?_

_Did I ever say it wasn't_? came the reply from the shadows. The cat (if it really was a cat and not just a figment of his imagination) shimmered slightly, blurring into the figure of a young, shaggy-haired boy. Next to him stood a catlike girl-woman that could've been his twin; they were so alike.

_I've seen you before, haven't I? _Thorn said slowly.

_Only in memories._ The girl-woman smiled slightly. _If you wish to help your Rider...well, here is your chance._

_How?_ Thorn asked warily.

_This is his dream. You might find it a bit more interesting than you'd like._

What? _His dream?_ Murtagh's_ dream? _Thorn said incredulously.

_Of course,_ the two figures laughed._ You're very slow, for a dragon._

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**How do I start…?**

**Okay, with the traditional. OMGGGG!!! I AM SO FREAKING SORRY!!! I DIDN'T UPDATE FOR FOREVER!!! OMMGGGGG!!!! x1000 **

**Yeah, now that that's over with, I am rather sorry for not updating. X.x But see, I have nice excuses, now don't I? See, first I got lazy, then school started, then my brain fell asleep, then my muses ran away, and then (actual legitimate reason) the computer broke down and had to be fixed, and then, uh, yeah. –smiles weakly- So no, DON'T KILL ME! ARRGH! I'm innoceenttt!**

**Oh, and yes. To that person who PMed me with a royal kick in the pants, THANK YOU. It was much needed and much appreciated. You know who you are. XD**

**Onward with the review replies. And please review. I got so few reviews last time, that's maybe one of the (very) minor reasons as to why I didn't update…**

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**Omg…HI**: Wow, lots of caps. Thanks! Who can resist the power of dose puppy eyes?

**ME**:Dude, omg, THANKS!

**Ariel32**: I don't know. I want to fix the Thorn/Saphira thing _someday_ because I think T/S would be an ideal direction, but I have no freaking idea how. I don't want to do a dragon version of Murtagh/Salem, but otherwise...well, I'll think of something.

**Dreamgirlhoo**: Eragon is a wee bit busy poking around at Murtagh's brain and having it explode in his face. –nods and smiles- You can't blame him for not noticing, can you? It's a difficult task, that is. And Arya is just...being Arya. That's enough to occupy anybody.

**Kewrari**: Yeah, thx 4 reviewing!

**Dark Seroph**: Ski trip? WOWZA! I want to go skiing (in addition to climbing Mt. Everest and volunteering in the Iditarod. Did I mention I love snow? And Taiwan is in the freaking TROPICS, which just sucks big, major donkey eggs) someday before I die. Course, I'll probably break a leg, but hey, experience is the mother of wisdom! Or something like that.

**October Morning**: Oh…yeah. –shifty eyes- Heh heh hehh…yeah, okay, it was a mistake. –bangs head against wall- For some reason, my fingers keep typing 'Mattes' as 'Matiel'. BAD FINGERS, BAD! –fingers cower- Yesh, that won't happen again. Evil, evil fingers…

**XladyXofXsorrowsX**: ERAGON AND ARYA MARRIED? AARRRRGH! Okay, but I need to steel myself because that's most likely what's going to happen in the third book. I bet you can probably hear all around the globe something like, "NOOO!!!" when _Empire_ comes out.

**Fredsonetrueluv**: Yeah, we spent two entire lousy days sweeping up the house. But on the plus side, I did get lots of money...time toodles on...and I have school tomorrow and exams in TWO WEEKS. I swear the evil school people are actually trying to break down our spirits or somafink.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: VERMILLION! Oh, the utter, sheer vermillion-ness of VERMILLION! Maybe I should've called Thorn and Misery 'Vermillion Flame' or something like that, just so I'll actually remember. X.x

Black Hand from Harry Potter? Err…uh…-shifty eyes- I have no idea what you're talking about. Just because they have something eerily like the Dark Mark DOES NOT mean it in any way resembles the evil Voldy cult from HP! Noo!

**Treeonfire12**: I'm hoping for a good outcome. –crosses fingers- Knowing my fantabulous luck, they'll probably end up hating the crap out of each other for the rest of eternity. I can never get something to work convincingly if I actually "try" to make it work. Grr.

**Alsdssg**: Aww, yes, that does make sense. Maybe Nasuada and Mattes will get together! SPWEE! Or maybe Nasuada will just get a fatal blow next chapter and end up dying a long winded, painful death. Who knows? Galby's gotta do _somefink_ to get his Murtagh back.

**Lady Elora**: Well, there're some pretty nifty slashy thingies out there. Oh, well, to each their own. –shrugs- I'm trying to cut back on the Thorn/Saphira conflict because they'll eventually have to get together and overthrow good ol' Galby or something like that, but it's fun writing their spat moments. –grins- Of course, most of this chapter was fun to write anyway; it's like inspiration, corked up for so long, has finally flowed! FLOWED, I say! Let the words flow! Let the writing rock! Let freedom ring! –heavenly chorus-

Whoosha…that was RANDOM. XD


	20. Birth of Chaos

**Ah, the mysterious power of reviews. You know, I was going to devote what little of the weekend I have between exam preparation and other assorted crap to _Shattered Ice_. But seeing those reviews…gosh, I'm touched. Thank you to everybody who reviewed! **

**Also, some explanations. Rina is an OC that was formerly seen in T&M as one of the last surviving members of Silica, or Peregrine, which is the really kickass secret conspiracy group and stuffs in there. Anyway, don't fuss too much about it. If you know what I'm talking about, cookies for you, but if not, it's not that big a deal. The past doesn't matter too much.**

**But in any case, I can't call this a kind-of-but-not-really sequel anymore. Goodness gracious, what a thin line we've crossed…sequeldom it is. **

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_Date/Time Unknown_

The gray fog grew thicker the further in he traveled, clinging to him like a second skin. It wrapped around him tightly, muffling all sound and making it harder and harder to see anything but dull, neverending gray.

Thorn stopped, staring uncertainly around. The two figures he had been following had completely vanished by now, swallowed by the fog. There was no sound, no color, no movement. Nothing.

_Hello?_ he called uneasily into the haze. _Maud? Um, cat? Cat, are you there?_

There! A spark of color flickered in answer in the distance, wavering enticingly. Thorn set off in that direction, but he didn't seem to get closer—it was always just out of reach, indistinct and vague. Frustrated, Thorn stopped moving, his eyes narrowed. _Maud!_ he shouted. _Cat!_ Then, hesitantly—_Murtagh?_

This last call brought even more sparks of color to the landscape, ghostly materializations that were impossible to define. Some stayed for barely a moment before vanishing, while others floated hauntingly in the distance, impossible to touch.

_Murtagh,_ Thorn tried again, letting the word touch the fog. It responded as before, bringing even more visions of color into the gray. _Murtagh, where are you? _Thorn called, letting his voice carry his frustration, his plea. _Wake up!_

Something shot past his face; Thorn reared up in surprise as he followed the missile as it plunged into the fog and vanished. The visions were multiplying now, increasing in thickness, duration, and frequency. Here, there—they clustered around him, sounds adding to the clamor. Two, three, four, six, ten—all of them pressed in around him now, demanding to be heard and known.

Thorn closed his eyes, shaking his head viciously as if hoping to shake them away. _Stop!_ he yelled, his head turning blindly in all directions. _What the—just shut up!_ he screamed at the clamoring cries, his voice barely heard over the din.

And they did.

Surprised, Thorn opened one eye, staring blankly out into the—well, the fog was gone, anyway. Replacing it was this flat terrain of what seemed to be grass, but not quite. It was too flat, for one. Tentatively, he poked it—it was kind of bouncy, sort of.

_What's going on?_ he wondered.

"A refuge," a voice breathed softly into his ear. "Interesting."

Thorn turned around, his eyes narrowing as he saw the girl-woman, Maud. _Where am I?_ he demanded brusquely. _And don't tell me that I'm in a dream or anything like that. What were all those colors? And the fog? And who are you, anyway? What do you want? Why are you doing this?_

"Siege, attack, and sanctuary," she said slowly. "That is the best way I can explain it, I think, for your terms." She flashed him a smile, impish and fleeting. "The fog sieges, the voices assail. Only a few can enter the refuge, where it still moves. I think he should be here."

_What?_

"Murtagh, of course," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "When conflict arises and the blockade begins, where do you retreat? To the center. To the hidden. To the secure."

_So you're saying he'll be here? Literally or figuratively?_

She shrugged. Thorn glared at her, a distinct sense of irritation rising in him. _Who _are_ you?_ he demanded abruptly.

"I am a werecat," she said peaceably. "That's all you need to know."

_Werecat?_ Thorn said, startled. _I didn't know any still existed._

"You didn't need to know. Now you do. Will it change your life? Most likely not. Therefore, we keep our existence secret." She looked sideways at him, her mouth curling up into a secretive smile. "I suggest you begin searching, Thorn."

She vanished. Thorn sputtered, staring at the spot where she had been before glancing wildly around the featureless terrain. Begin _searching?_ For _what?_

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_10/22/101_

_Very early morning—still dark_

Mattes jerked awake from his post, staring wildly around him. Before his eyes stood another servant, one whose name he didn't know well. "What?" he managed, rubbing his eyes.

"Sleeping on your shift," she snapped, her eyes dark and righteous. "I should report you, I think. You, what's your name?"

Mattes looked at her distractedly, and out the window. It was still dark—good, he hadn't completely slept the night away. Turning back to the woman, he smiled vaguely, picking out a random name. "James Mantleson," he said, his face the very portrait of a chastisted servant. "I'm sorry. I'll do better."

"You'd better," she rapped out. "If you don't, I'll report you. What if the Lady Nasuada had needed you? Well, the next shift has arrived, and you can sleep knowing that you haven't done your duty now. Scat!"

She made a shooing motion with her hand, and Mattes was only too glad to scramble out of there. Yawning, he stumbled out of the royal wing where both Nasuada and Orrin slept—in separate chambers, of course. Separate halls. They weren't lovers or married, after all.

The secondary infirmary and the servants' quarters were in the same wing of the palace, and it was near the intersection when the shadow caught Mattes's eye. It was fleeting, here one moment and gone the next—he wasn't even really sure if he'd seen it.

Whether it was real or not, it spiked the adrenaline in Mattes's blood. Curious and no longer sleepy, he crept stealthily to the corner around the infirmary, peering slowly around the corner. There—looking mussed and half-asleep stood the Blue Rider, murmuring something to the large cat at his feet. There was a click, and the door swung open.

Midnight visits? The Blue Rider? Large kitty? How peculiar.

The door swung shut, and Mattes breathed softly in disappointment. He couldn't scry the room; they'd put some shield over it. He'd actually have to be inside it to see anything of what was going on...

Disappointed, he crouched down at the corner, half-hidden in shadow. He'd have to wait until they came out for news.

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"What in the _world_ happened to her?" the healer said crossly, cutting off the end of the bandage with an ominous _snick_. "Lover's quarrel? Or did she jump off the roof and you just happen to be strolling by?"

Derek flushed, red rising in his cheeks. "Nothing like that," he snapped. "Somebody asked me to do a favor. I did it. I didn't put this woman in this state, Emina, so don't look at me like that!"

"Mmm. Well, she's a bit too old for you, Derek," Emina grunted, turning the woman over. Raising an eyebrow, she whistled slowly. "Well, well, she's been through the mill. Take a look."

Derek leaned over, a thrill of shock running through him as he saw the woman's back. It was laced with whip scars, stretching thickly from side to side. "How did that happen?" he asked in surprise, staring at Emina.

"How do I know? I'm surprised she's still alive, though," she said. "And look at this—" With a finger, she traced a brand mark that trawled across the woman's shoulder. "A slave, maybe?"

"Maybe," Derek agreed, leaning back. He studied the woman with a new eye, noting the faint scar that swept across her cheek. "What should we do?"

Emina shrugged. "Not my business. I just heal. You want to take her, or leave her here for the night?"

Derek thought it over, drumming his fingers on the cot. "I'll take her back," he said after a moment. "She'll probably have a better time of it there. Not one the palace hands, I take it?"

"Of course not," Emina snorted. "At least, none that's ever entered my infirmary before. You have single quarters, I take it?"

"Yes," Derek said absentmindedly.

"Watch yourself, Derek," she advised, shaking her head. "If the palace finds out about this woman, gossip is going to fly that you've found yourself a lady. And if they know she's a runaway slave...well, you know what the law is for harboring one."

Derek shrugged. "She might be free, Emina."

"I doubt it." Emina sighed, rubbing her temples slowly. "It's your choice; just step carefully. How did you come by her, anyway?"

"Like I said—a favor. Thank you, Emina. You won't tell anybody?"

"Of course not," she said scathingly. "Have I ever?"

Derek grinned at that. "No." Picking the woman up, he stumbled back to his chambers.

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Setting her down carefully on a pad of blankets, Derek sighed, staring blankly at the wall as he wondered what he had gotten himself _into_. Harboring a runaway slave could mean anything from heavy fines to death—what more, he didn't even know who she was. Or how she ended up bleeding so badly in the first place.

And what did Orca have to do with this? Did she give this woman all those wounds? Of course not; that was just stupid. But what, then? And how did this woman get injured originally? What was she doing here anyway?

Cursing softly to himself, Derek pulled the blankets up over his head. He'd find Orca in the morning and shake the truth out of her; he _had_ to know before he'd do anything else.

With that vow made in his mind, he drifted off into uneasy sleep.

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Thorn was seriously not having a good time.

There seemed to be no end to the blank landscape, stretching onwards until it met with an equally boring sky. If this was indeed a refuge, it was a rather boring one, mindnumbing in its monotony.

_Murtagh,_ he tried listlessly for the hundredth time, his words echoing flatly. _Murtagh, come out. It's me...Thorn. You've got to come out. I've got to wake you up...or find you...because this is your sanctuary. Or whatever. That's what Maud said, anyway. Come out..._

The ground heaved beneath him suddenly, its jellylike surface wobbling and shifting underneath his feet. Alarmed, he took flight, hovering uneasily above the ground as it shook beneath him. Taking a quick glance around, he discovered to his alarm that the fog was starting to creep back in, eating at the edges of this unreal world.

_Stop!_ he said sharply, forcing his will onto the mist. It hesitated slightly before surging onwards, stronger than ever. Thorn hissed, baring his teeth at the mist. _No!_ he snapped. _I don't like this so-called refuge, but you're not coming into it. I said _stop!

It shoved forward, desperate to claw its way in. Thorn shoved back, forcing every inch of his will into pushing the unearthly gray back. It didn't belong here—if it truly was the siege, then it was supposed to be outside and outside it would stay. _Out!_

_Push!_ an unseen voice cried, sounding oddly familiar. Thorn shook his head, irritated—he was _trying, _for gods' sake, so _please_ just shut up and let him concentrate! Sensing the lapse in concentration, the gray darted forward—Thorn snapped at it viciously, watching with vindicative satisfaction as the errant tendril snapped back into the main mass.

There was a sharp crack, then an arc of blue, sapphire light filled the clearing. It sliced through the gray, burning it away wherever it touched. Brushing Thorn's wings, the dragon lost control and dropped, slamming awkwardly into the ground, the impact causing stars to quite literally dance before his eyes. He yelped, clawing his way back to his feet as he rubbed his eyes hard.

_What?!_

He was back in the real world—the crisp night air filled his nose, and the ground underneath him was solid and cool. Saphira crouched next to him, her eyes half-closed in either concentration or annoyance. Thorn sucked in an agitated breath, shaking his head wildly in confusion. _What—Murtagh! _Murtagh!

Anxiously, he reached into his mind. Was he really just dreaming his own demented dream all this time? Or did it really work, whatever he did?

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_Murtagh! _Murtagh! _Are you awake? Are you there? Answer me! _

Mmm.

_Thorn?_

_What? Eragon? What're _you_ doing here?_

_I tried something...Solembum told me to try. Do you feel something? Is he awake?_

_I don't know. Can you hear anything?_

_Not really._

_What did you try to do? Was the blue light you, then?_

_Blue light? What're you talking about?_

_In the dream. In the sanctuary, refuge, hidey-hole, whatever. Something forced the gray back. Something burned it away..._

_I flooded his mind with magic, yes. Something opened the pathway so I could do so...was that you, then?_

_I think so. Who's Solembum?_

Thorn? Is that you?

_He's a werecat. He's right here. He—wait. Did you hear that?_

_What?_

_I'm not sure. _

Who...what's going on?

_There! There! You heard it, Eragon, didn't you?_

_I might have. Murtagh. Murtagh, can you hear me?_

_Murtagh, wake up! Talk to me. Did it work?_

Work? Did what work? Thorn? Eragon? What happened...why can't I find you? Where _are_ you?

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The door swung open sharply with a bang, causing Mattes to jerk up from his half-doze. From his corner, he could see Eragon rush out of the room, his face flushed and excited. Behind him, the cat peered out the door leisurely both ways before strolling back in.

Eragon returned about ten minutes later with the elf, Arya. The elf seemed noticeably uncomposed, her eyebrows slanted together in a pinched expression. They closed the door behind them, leaving Mattes to wait impatiently for whatever had happened.

The next guest to enter the room was the lady Nasuada, followed by Orrin. The king promptly stormed out of the room about five minutes after he entered, Nasuada following him and whispering hurriedly into his ear.

Mattes watched, feeling an unfamiliar pang of jealousy at the way Nasuada crouched into Orrin, pressed hard onto his shoulder. The alert, disconnected part that wasn't busy observing the way Nasuada leaned into the king or the way her lips brushed his ear as she talked had enough sense to enhance her words with magic—_"...no cause for alarm, just because he's awakened doesn't change anything..."_

Orrin's reply made him wince as it blasted through the hall, magnified by the magic. "_To the bloody hell it doesn't mean anything! He's awakened, for gods' sake! Do you know what that means for Surda? Do you know what this means for the Varden?"_

Orrin stopped, apparently shocked by the power of his own volume. Hastily, Mattes canceled the spell. Praying that no one would notice him, he fled from the hall.

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**Wow, big surprise, right? I hope that you enjoyed this chapter even it was kind of obvious from the start that Murtagh HAD to awake now that he's got both Thorn AND Eragon poking around in his mind. Poor kid can't get a rest, now can he? Not only does he have to put up with Galby, he now has his brother and his dragon in there too…**

**Did I do the werecats okay? I mean, I'm kind of rushed because it's REALLY late at night and parents are doing their nagging act with, "You should go to sleep already!" So, I better shut up and give you your review responses. Quickly, quickly…**

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**Noodlez**: Wow, I feel honored to be your first Eragon fic. Nah, I don't read much HP stuff—there's about ONE HP fic that I like and that's about it. I'll check yours out, though. And yes, just so I get my chance at a plug-in, check out the prequel to this, Thorn and Misery. XD

**Ariel32**: The computer problems all started one fine day when my dear genius of a father decided to install Windows Vista. Anyway, long story short, one of the hard drives couldn't take all that Vista stress and blacked out so he tried to install the old Windows XP back, found that he couldn't, and had to replace the freaking hard drive. Okay, so all these events only account for about three days of no-computer, but the pain was just too much to bear...hence my lateness. X3 Heh heh. Yeah.

**MurtaghLuver**: Thanks!

**BlindSeer220**: What? Choco on Lent is stupid? Whyzat? –ish confuzzled- D'you guys have a Gardners Candies where you live? I remember they had the most WOWZA chocolate ever. Behind Dove's, of course. Don't eat Hershey's—for all the name-brandness, they SUCK.

**Dark Seroph**: Oh yeah, I got to screw around big-time with Murtagh's dream. I kind of based it off ideas mooched from both _Ptolemy's Gate_ and _A Hat Full of Sky_. I'm lazy, I know. X.x

**Fredsonetrueluv**: I think that Mattes will eventually end up either a) killing Nasuada or b) marrying her. It all depends. Or, he might kick the bucket himself before he does either of these. Me has no plot, so I have no idea...

**October Morning**: Ohmygoshness! Do you live in Alaska? Or do you just have a really purebred champion kickass husky dog? That's SO cool. I haven't followed the Iditarod much myself lately, but I went through this real Iditarod phase when my reading teacher made us to this research project in 7th grade. Twas cool.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yep, I have exams next week, and I gotta say that the week before exams is actually MUCH worse than the exams themselves. Especially since they only gave us three lousy weeks before springing the exams on us. Unfair! Well, it's because Chinese New Year was so late this year...but still. TYRANNY, I SAY!

**XladyXofXsorrowsX**: Ooh. May be kind of late now, but...HAPPY BIRTHDAY! HAPPY BIRTHDAYNESS! HAAAAPPPY BIRTHDAY!!! YAAAAYYY! 8D

**Lady Shana**: Aww, thank you! I'm touched. –huggles back-

**Lady Elora**: Naah, crazy suicidal woman was one of those dudes back in T&M. Anyway, not that big of a deal...she's only crazy now because she got beaten to an inch of her life somewhere in between T&M and VF. No, really, I didn't write in what happened to her after all the drama was over, and so twisted her up a bit to pop her in here.

**Alsdssg**: If I remember correctly, Ides got whapped up by arrows in the whole Neal/Martaila standoff or somafink. Anyway, he's dead. Deader than a doornail. Poor guy, I really liked him too…

**Dreamgirlhoo**: Yesh, I finally updated after weeks of braindeadness. I'm going to update regularly EVERY WEEK from now on. I hope. Okay, I might not next week because I'm going to work on _Shattered Ice_, but besides that. Really.

**Crystalline Sunset**: I find Derek being haunted by Llynis really really funny for some reason, which is why I JUST had to put it in. I have a weird sense of humor, don't I? X.x

**Treeonfire13**: OH, THAT WOULD BE AWESOME! Eragon in a coma? Cool. Seriously, kickass cool. I'll have to think seriously on that someday. XD


	21. Confusion's Search

**-insert witty comment here-**

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_10/22/101_

_Sunrise_

"Murtagh?"

That would be Eragon, his voice uncertain as he swung the door quietly behind him. The Rider looked apprehensive, his steps soft and wary as he approached Murtagh. "I'm sorry about that earlier," he said carefully, "what with Orrin screaming and ranting." He smiled uneasily. "How do you feel?"

Murtagh didn't answer him immediately, not trusting his voice. It all seemed vaguely surreal to him, just another figment of his dreams, another hallucination. Had it only been a day? It seemed so long…

"I'm fine," he answered at last. He didn't look at Eragon.

Eragon sighed, an expression of frustration on his face. "Thorn told us something about what Galbatorix did to you," he said at last. "About erasing your memory. About the—"

"Why am I here?" Murtagh interrupted, his voice level.

Eragon grimaced, his elven features tightening. He took a deep breath, and Murtagh could almost see him brace himself for the lie. "We want you to come back to us," Eragon burst out at last.

"Is that so?" Murtagh murmured softly.

"_Yes_," Eragon grated out. He hesitated, looking uncertain. "Murtagh, you told me once that you didn't serve Galbatorix freely. That you had no choice. Well, now you _do_. You can be free. You can return to the Varden."

He paused, as if hoping for a response. Murtagh watched him idly, feeling detached as he played with the bedsheet, twisting it in his fingers. "Where's Thorn?" he asked finally.

Eragon was visibly relieved that Murtagh had stopped pursuing the subject. "He's outside," the blue Rider answered. "Anxious to see you."

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"There's a council waiting," Eragon said, almost apologetically. "I have to bring you there, now that you're—awake."

"I'm still Galbatorix's vassal," Murtagh remarked to the ceiling. "You may have taken my magic, but that doesn't mean I'm not a threat to your precious Varden."

The uneasy smile returned to Eragon's face, and he shrugged. "Don't worry about that."

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The Varden, apparently, took no chances. By the time Murtagh and Eragon made it from the basement infirmary up to the second floor council room, at least five guards and two elves were tailing behind them like a wedding train. It would've been fairly comical, if Murtagh had been in a mood to laugh.

He still felt weak, somehow. Shaky. His muscles couldn't have atrophied _that_ much from just one day's inactivity, so the weakness had to have another source. Everything seemed unstable, liable to topple or change at a moment's notice. Walking along, Murtagh concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, holding on the wall for balance.

The doors swung open, revealing an impressively spacious room. In the center was a large table, and around it were arrayed various personages. Murtagh recognized three—Orrin, Arya, Nasuada—and that was it. Orrin, incidentally, looked furious.

"Council," Eragon said from behind him, "he's here."

It was as if he were some exotic zoo animal suddenly, as all the eyes turned to gawk. Murtagh ignored them all, glancing vaguely around the room. The Varden certainly seemed to be well funded, with all the lace curtains and velvet chairs. Still, they didn't deck everything in gold like some of the more formal rooms in Uru'baen.

"Murtagh," a voice said, calling him back to the present, "welcome."

Murtagh drew his eyes away from an interesting mural on the opposite wall and to the speaker. Nasuada was standing at the opposite side of the table, her eyes unreadable as she spoke. "On the behalf of the Varden, I welcome you. The elves have promised to attempt to negate Galbatorix's bonds upon you, so you may be free. Meanwhile, we will offer you the hospitality of the Varden for the duration of your stay, provided you swear to obey the rules and limits that Eragon Shadeslayer will set out for you in the ancient language."

_Shadeslayer_, now was it? Murtagh glanced at Eragon, who stared straight ahead, ignoring him. Turning his gaze back to the table, he saw Orrin standing up, his pudgy jaw sticking out angrily. "I don't support this idea," he said coldly. "Know that this _criminal_ will never be welcome in Surda."

"Orrin—" Nasuada began.

"I never welcomed this mad, far-fetched plan in the first place," he snapped, looking uncharacteristically furious. "If you wish to persevere with this ridiculous idea, then you will do it without Surda's support. _He—_" and here he pointed at Murtagh—"can't stay."

"Orrin—" Arya began.

"I mean it!" he cried. "I won't allow it!"

All eyes swung to Murtagh, apparently expecting a response. Murtagh watched them all with a faintly cynical amusement, a smile playing about his lips. As if he _cared_, either way...

As if it mattered.

"Orrin, you needn't be so dramatic," Nasuada said at last, shooting a _look_ at Eragon. The Rider stepped smoothly forward, his expression bland as he took Orrin by the elbow. "Calm down, do some experiments, and think it over. You'll see."

Eragon led Orrin out the door, handing him off to one of the guards. Closing the doors, he turned back to Murtagh with an apologetic smile. "King Orrin tends to be cautious on the behalf of Surda," he said lightly.

Murtagh crossed his arms. "He does have a point."

"That's nothing for us to worry about," Eragon said firmly. "You _are_ welcome here, Murtagh. The elves—" he gestured around the room—"will help you be free."

"Out of the goodness of their hearts?" Murtagh inquired mockingly.

Eragon hesitated, then shrugged. "For the good of the Varden."

His eyes held a question, an uncertainty—one that Murtagh didn't really care to answer. Eragon was very obviously concealing _something_—his manner, his voice, it gave away the fact that the weak reason "we want you to come back to us" wasn't the true motivation. He was lying, just like Galbatorix had.

They all lied to suit themselves. Everyone.

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Finding Orca proved to be one of those things that were easier said than done. For the first time, Derek realized just how appallingly full his schedule was—from dawn to dusk, every conceivable moment was occupied.

Or perhaps it was just because he was fidgety, for the problem had never occurred to him before. The presence of the possibly-runaway-slave in his quarters made him suddenly paranoid, as all the guards seemed to be eyeing him suspiciously. He'd left her in his room and locked it after him, but what if she'd gotten out? What if somebody broke in? What if they began searching the rooms and found her?

"By the gods, Derek!" Trisi cried as he barreled into her for the dozenth time. Her eyes narrowed conspiratorally, and she beckoned him forward. "Anything I should know about?" she whispered into his ear.

Derek shook himself, forcing a nonchalant smile on his face. If Trisi got hold of what was _really_ going on, then any hope of secrecy would be destroyed. "Nothing," he said coolly, turning away with as much insouciance as he could muster.

Still, he gave up the pretense around midday, running flat-out towards Orca's (or whoever's they were) quarters. The door was unlocked, and he slammed it open, skittering sharply to a halt as he saw the emperor himself sitting on the bed.

"Oh—your majesty—" he stammered weakly.

The emperor glanced at him as one might a dead bug on one's shoe. "Servant," he said, sounding regally disdainful. "What is the meaning of this interruption?"

The light tang of incense and rosemary touched his nose, and Derek swallowed convulsively. Obviously, he'd interrupted something... "I'm sorry, your majesty," he said weakly.

The emperor's mouth curled. "You are looking for the child Orca? Whatever for?"

Could the emperor read his _mind_ or something? Derek blinked, much like a mouse caught in the face of a cat. "Yes," he gasped out at last, fully aware that he was behaving like an idiot.

The emperor regarded him thoughtfully, onyx eyes catching Derek's own hazel in an unbreakable gaze. "I sent her to the gardens," he said at last. "What is your name, servant?"

"Derek," he said, and faltered. Clearing his throat, he said, "Derek Mayson, your majesty."

"Well." The emperor cocked his head, looking uncannily like a cat. "You shall find the child Orca in one of the gardens," he said slowly, never blinking. "Mr. Mayson, when you find her, do bring her up back here."

"Yes—yes, your majesty," Derek stumbled. The emperor's gaze was like a bottomless pool, a void sucking him in…

And then the emperor blinked, and he was free. With a hasty bow, Derek closed the door and got the hell out of there.

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The council fought, the council talked, the council yattered on for ages unending concerning their prisoners. The red Rider himself stood aloof from the talk, eyeing everything and everybody with a faintly scornful, weary air.

Thank the gods they had forgotten to scry-proof the room, or else he'd have to crouch outside the door eavesdropping all day. In his quarters, Mattes leaned back against the wall, staring glumly at a basin of water. How very monotonous.

"…and I think that will be all for the day, Caniya," a voice announced, jerking Mattes out of his reverie. "If you would be so kind as to escort him to the prepared quarters…"

_Finally_ they were ending. Mattes stood up, wiped clean the scrying basin, and opened the door anxiously. He was taking a sick day, so it wouldn't fare too well if anybody came to investigate if he was actually sick. Well, nobody _would_, most likely, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

As he rounded the stairs, a colossal _bang_ sounded from upstairs. His pulse quickening, Mattes sprinted up the last few steps and skidded to a halt at the end of the council hallway—a man in the palace liveries was crouched there on his knees, his head thrown back as he screamed—_"You keep the Red Rider here, and we'll all be cursed. Galbatorix will come after us, he'll kill us for the sake of revenge—"_

The man's words echoed through the crowded hall, bringing a hushed, unnatural silence. Nobody seemed to have enough nerve to stop the man, to shut him up as he continued screaming, cursing the day the Varden brought the red Rider here—

Guards took the man by the arms, dragging him away. The shocked silence that he had brought remained, as all eyes swiveled to stare at the newcomer, the man that could _only_ be the red Rider. And now he was here? He was here in the heart of Surda, the stronghold of the Varden?

He raised a quizzical eyebrow at all the stares. Eragon Shadeslayer looked embarrassed, motioning the members of the council forward to hide the red Rider from the accusing stares of the crowd. The crowd parted for them, the air heavy with silent damnation.

Mattes blinked, his jaw half-open with astonishment.

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"Well, that went well," Murtagh said as they entered his cell-slash-room, leaning against the wall as he stared at the ceiling. "Who was that man, incidentally?"

Eragon looked at him with a frustrated expression, his eyes narrowed. "I don't know," he answered tersely.

Murtagh glanced at him cursorily, then away with a sigh. Eragon bit his lip, a very human expression of annoyance on his face. "Damn you, Murtagh!" he burst out finally.

Murtagh looked at him, cynical surprise on his face. Eragon sighed, rubbed his face with his hands, and took a deep breath as to regain his composure. "What?" Murtagh asked.

Eragon looked away—when he looked back, his face was calm, almost as stone. "You've been very distant, very—cold," he said finally. "I thought it would be different. I suppose I was—I was wrong."

Murtagh didn't answer, feeling numb. What did Eragon want from him?

"So you'd expect it would be like old times, again," he said at last, raking the hair back from his eyes to stare at Eragon. "Back when we were crossing Alagaesia. Running from the Urgals. Coming toward the Varden. Just the two of us, again?"

Eragon sighed. "I don't know. I just thought…well, it doesn't matter now. Anymore."

He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. Hesitating, he half-turned around, about to say something—then, abruptly, he stopped and began to close the door.

"Eragon?"

"Yes?" Eragon glanced up at Murtagh, a disturbed expression of half-hope, half-anger on his face.

"When can I see Thorn?"

Eragon's face grew still, and he shrugged. "Tomorrow. Most likely."

And the the door closed, and he was gone.

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**Okay. I have a really, really good excuse.**

**I had appendicitis.**

**Do you know just how much that sucks? Like, really sucks? There is nothing crappier than having to eat through a freakin' IV. There is nothing more embarrassing than actually having to be HELPED to pee like you're two years old or something. And—there is really, really nothing worse than having to actually do homework in a hospital because if you don't you'll fall behind and end up failing all your midterms or WHATEVER. Stupid, stupid STUPID school.**

**Yeah, so I'm bitter. All the cons of getting sick, and none of the pros. X.x Under the circumstances, I think I'm rather justified.**

**On another note…**

**I am thinking of ending or deleting this fic. I checked my email today and found out that they have a chapter online? Anyway, it's just that the third book will be coming out soon, and once it does, all those 'after book threes' will be kind of null and void. VF is (annoyingly) one of those fics. I do have a few ideas for AU fics that won't be affected by the publication of book three, so I won't be leaving the Eragon universe forever. It's just an idea, but one to consider.**

**I would appreciate feedback on this subject, and your opinions.**

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**Review replies, etc.**

**Lintu**: The entire fic? Forty-something chapters? Wow. I am very honored, indeed:D

**My-Lover-Gren-Gren**: Thanks! I shall spare you from the epic attack of the sugarhigh plot bunnies. X.x

**Joralie**: Thanks! I'm glad you like it.

**Meep meep**: My imagination is quite morbid indeed, but also rather random. Maybe I'll make Murtagh happy. Who knows?

**Ariel32**: Eh, not too much stress here. If I do go on with the fic, though, I hope to add in lots more angsty stress soon…

**October Morning: **Valrhona or Guittard? Never heard of them. Suspect they're awesomehugeousmongously expensive, no? They sound like it. X.x But yeah, next time I hop through a chocolatier, I'll keep an eye out. Why does that remind me of the Willy Wonka song? Anyway…I'm really random today.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Seems to me that he rather didn't. Poor fella can never be happy, now can he?

**Lady Elora**: Extra DVD scenes? Urgh, I don't think I'm even gonna waste my money borrowing it from the DVD store. I can't stand watching it again…my willpower is not strong enough to prevent me from smashing the TV screen in.

**Alsdssg**: I want to make Mattes kill Nasuada. That would be just so much FUN. Yeah, I'm morbid, I know.

**Dreamgirlhoo**: Yeah, well, there are lots of OC's and lots of fics. Not much to worry about there…

**Fredsonetrueluv**: We think alike! How cool. Actually, I don't know if I had the idea of Mattes killing Nasuada before or after your review; it was a while ago. Oh wells, who cares? XD

**BlindSeer220**: Gave up chocolate for Lent? Meh. But don't you get to pig out on Easter or something? I'm not too smart when it comes to holidays…

**Treenonfire13**: Maybe Galby could blast Saint Eragon or something. Seriously, if Eragon does the whole, "I'm a hero and I save the day!" act in the third book, I'm just gonna cry. X.x


	22. Sine Terra Firma

**GODDAMN COCKROACH! Stupid little bug…how dare you crawl onto my desk? I HATE COCKROACHES!**

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_10/22/101_

_Afternoon-evening_

Murtagh swung his legs over the edge of the bed, staring abstractedly around at the walls of his prison. Luxuriously furnished, he didn't give the room a second glance, his eyes fixating on the doorknob—or more precisely, its lack of one. The door had been spelled to only be openable by a spell…

Gritting his teeth, he paced the room restlessly, a strange irritability coursing through his veins. His earlier coolness had worn off, to be replaced by—well, some strange twist of anger and impatience. He needed to _move_. He needed to be out in the fresh air, not locked up like some exotic zoo animal. He needed to talk to Thorn…

Glancing back at the door, a furiously irrational anger roared through him, almost_ begging_ him to storm over and just rip the door right out. Rationality fought the fury, ordering him to just sit down and _wait_. Eragon would be back soon; he just needed patience…

He forced himself to sit back down on the bed, his thoughts racing wildly. To recap—he had been taken from the palace a few weeks ago, taken to here, the palace in Surda. Then Galbatorix had found him, forced him into spelled sleep, only to have it broken by Thorn. With it went the memory spell, leaving him with all the memories of his life—but they seemed distant, somehow. As if they belonged to another person, not him, and he was simply a bystander.

_Thorn?_

The call went unheard, unheeded—he had no magic to reinforce it. The rage flared up in his veins again, threatening to swamp his vision—it took a greater effort to force it down, for conscience to stop him.

He drew his knees up to his chest, staring blindly at the length of implacable door.

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How long he sat like that, he wasn't sure. He tried to fall into a meditation trance, something that he had done when first learning swordplay—Tornac had insisted on it, saying that it would help hone his concentration. Either he was out of practice or he was just too angry to settle down—by the time the door finally opened, Murtagh was convinced that he would go insane, if he weren't already.

His eyes snapped up to his visitor—not Eragon, as he had expected, but Arya. Breathing hard as if he had just come from a marathon, Murtagh snapped, "What do you want?"

Arya regarded him with cool, appraising eyes. "Eragon asked me to take you to Thorn," she said finally. "He has errands to run, himself."

_Thorn_. The promise of seeing his dragon again helped douse the irrational anger, sending a wave of cool relief into the angry pit in his stomach. "All right," he said, his voice softening slightly. Coughing, he added gruffly, "Thank you."

Arya simply shrugged and led the way, walking through a twisting maze of corridors that led steadily upwards. Murtagh forced himself to ignore the growing train of guards, which had been cynically amusing before and was only irritating now.

They entered into a broad courtyard, empty except for the afternoon sunlight that flooded it. Murtagh blinked, a small smile spreading across his face as the sun hit it. He stared up into it, shading his eyes from the worst of its glare—silly, really, but it was as if he'd forgotten it existed. That it was real, not just a dream.

A shadow drifted above him, circling down to land on the ground with a very solid thump. Murtagh grinned up at Thorn as the red dragon folded his wings neatly, cocking his head and looking not so much as a dragon than as a very prim, winged cat.

"Hello, Thorn," he said softly out loud.

Thorn nodded once, his tail lazily tapping the ground. One eye swiveled pointedly to glare at Arya, who lifted a hand. Murtagh flinched as the cool, almost cold touch of her fingers brushed his cheek. With it came a tiny trickle of white light, flashing briefly underneath his eyelids as a cool chill ran through him. Just on it its heels followed the bond, the life-bond twined with Thorn's—more than just words, but _feelings_.

_That's better,_ Thorn announced into Murtagh's mind, sounding satisfied.

_Thorn?_ Murtagh tried tentatively.

_Who else?_ Yes, there was that familiarly acidic tone of voice again, softened by the gentle affection that lined it. _Good to see you up and about, Murtagh._

_I do try,_ Murtagh said dryly. _As much as people attempt to keep me asleep, I should think I'm doing fairly well._

_Mmm,_ Thorn said, pacing lightly towards Murtagh. The dragon curled his wing affectionately around the human, bending his head down to meet eye-to-eye. _I daresay you have gained weight, Murtagh._

Murtagh laughed, the sound free, and strangely foreign to his ears. _Weeks of inactivity do that to me. How are you enjoying your stay so far?_

_Oh, it's tolerable. With the exception of a certain blue dragon, my life has just been spectacular. Ravishing. I must say, though, Surda's deer seem to taste better than Uru'baen's._

_The hunters can't be too happy with you…_

Thorn grinned, a lazy, amused smile. _As if I cared._

Murtagh reached a hand out, stroking Thorn's scales lightly. Somewhere inside him, he finally relaxed, letting the last of his guards down. Smiling quietly, he said, _I've missed you, Thorn._

_And I you,_ the red dragon said softly.

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Rina woke up.

She knew she was awake because everything hurt like hell. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite dead yet, unless death included small girls with dull brown eyes and a tall, cross-looking man dressed in the ghastly palace uniform.

"Go away," she mumbled.

"Well, as tempting as the thought is, you've got some explaining to do," the man snapped, sounding annoyed. "As to why you're bleeding. As to why _Orca_ dragged me to you. As to why—uh—Orca's got a dragon, though for some reason, though I don't quite think you're responsible for that part."

"Leave me _alone_," Rina moaned.

A businesslike claw jabbed her side, startling old aches and pains to life. _Why _did_ you try to kill us, anyway?_ a voice asked. _It's not like we know you, anyway._

Rina glanced in the direction of the voice, another soft _arrgh_ escaping her as the apparent not-death expanded to include a splotchy green dragon that she had a vague memory of trying to kill. Or it tried to kill her. Or something. In any case, she'd much rather that it just stay a figment of her imagination…

_Well?_ the voice snapped, followed by another jab in the ribs.

Rina curled up in a ball, wanting to die.

"Oh, stop that," the man said. A hand gripped her shoulders, another her legs, forcing her to sit up. "Nobody's going to hurt you. At least for now. Look at me, will you? I won't hit you."

Rina wrenched her gaze up from the ugly bedcovers to the man's face, and away. "What do you want?" she asked in a small voice, feeling suddenly very vulnerable. The hard padding of bandages lay on her stomach, releasing a sudden jolt of panic. Had they seen her scars, then? They would have seen the marks, the—

"What's your name?" the man asked, interrupting her train of thought. "Let's start with that."

"Rina," Rina whispered.

"Rina. I see. Now, what are you doing here? In the palace? Uh—Anil—Orca here tells me that you, uh, tried to kill her. Him. Both. Why?"

Rina began to shake, sensing the interrogative tones of his voice. "I don't know," she whispered, curling her knees up to her chest tightly. "Don't ask me! Please!"

"Nobody's going to—"

"Just let me go," she babbled, a growing panic blossoming in her chest. "Let me go! No one has to know. I had to stop it. I had to. Otherwise _he'll_ grow strong, he'll destroy it. We tried. We tried, but it didn't work, and now, he's _won…"_

There was a pause at this. Finally, the man said, "Who's _he_?"

"Him," Rina whispered. "He'll find me…"

_That's not very helpful_, the dragon pointed out, sounding annoyed.

"It doesn't matter," Rina whimpered, fighting tears. "Please, don't ask me. I can't say. I can't _say!_" Failing miserably, tears began to course painfully down her cheeks.

There was a pause, and then the man said uncomfortably, "All right. All _right! _Stop crying, would you? I'm not going to hurt you. Nothing's going to hurt you. Just stop crying…"

Rina sniffed, clutching the bedspread to her.

The man sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "All right," he said finally. "Let's start again, shall we? I'm Derek. Derek Mayson. This is Orca, and that's—" he paused, looking momentarily confused as he glanced at the green dragon. "Um—"

_Anil_, the dragon said, sounding mildly annoyed.

"Anil, right," Derek said after a pause. "Um, yes. Anil." He glanced at Rina. "Look, Rina. If that's your real name. I don't want to hurt you, or even indirectly cause you to be hurt. But you have to tell me who you are, what you're doing here, so on and so forth, all right? Nobody's going to hurt you, but servants do come in and out of here all the time and if you were found out to a runaway slave—"

"Don't turn me in!" Rina gasped, the words high and panicked as she clutched at his tunic. "Don't let him know…"

"I'm not _going_ to turn you in," Derek snapped, prying her fingers loose from his shirt. "Stop it!"

Rina leaned back, her eyes huge as she regarded him. "Promise?" she said, her voice sounding much smaller than she would've liked.

Derek glanced at the ceiling, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Gods give me patience," he mumbled. Inhaling slowly, he turned to Rina.

"Fine," he snapped. "I suspect that I'll come to regret this choice, but fine. Yes. I promise not to turn you in. But you have to do some things for me, too. One, tell me—are you a runaway slave?"

Trembling, Rina shook her head. Derek didn't seem convinced, but shrugged. "All right, then. And what were you doing, trying to kill Orca?"

Rina glanced at him, incredulous that he couldn't understand. "I _had_ to," she said softly. "Before he exploited her…"

"And who precisely is _he_?" Derek asked, just a shade _too_ patiently.

"Galbatorix," Rina whispered.

Derek looked visibly taken aback at this, one eyebrow raised in surprise. "The emperor? What's he got to do with all this?"

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The sound of footsteps made the two of them look up, Thorn unfurling his wing slightly. Both of them watched silently as Eragon rushed forward into the courtyard, looking uncertain and harassed.

He whispered something soft to Arya, whose eyebrows slanted together in carefully conveyed confusion. Slowly, she turned to Murtagh and Thorn, a slight frown growing on her face.

_What's wrong?_ Thorn demanded, his voice harsh.

Arya took her time answering, her voice carefully neutral. "An elf was attacked," she said at last. "Inari of House Taerinng. She was attacked from behind, and retaliated…the attacker is a servant."

_And what does this have to do with us? _Thorn said coldly.

Arya hesitated. "Witnesses claim…they claim he was screaming one name over and over as he attacked," she said carefully, not looking at Murtagh. "The people are talking."

"What name?" Murtagh asked softly, already knowing the answer.

"Galbatorix," Arya said, her voice distant.

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**O.o **

**So, in response to my question last week, I got a flood of emphatic, "Nooo!"s that really made my day. Thank you to everybody who supported the continuation of this story. I hope it continues to live up to your expectations, because y'all are just awesome.**

**And thank you, thank you to all of those who gave me get-well wishes. XD They were VERY much appreciated.**

**One day I swear I'm going to make a Plot. A real, live, kickass plot. One day…**

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**Lintu**: No, I liked the spiky black hair they gave Hedlund for Murtagh, and also the "I am too cool for you, so there" sneer he had in the poster. But in the movie, he was kind of just waay too smiley. And too little screentime. X.x So yeah, the movie SUCKED EGGS.

**Lady Elora**: Yeah, I didn't bother getting the DVD. For one, I've got my new obsession to keep me plenty busy (Alias, yaaay), and two, well, the movie just sucked. What was the Murtagh scene? They made him way too smiley in the movie, but still, he was one of the better characters.

**Ariel32**: Actually, midterms are this week. Coming week, whatever. Urgh. The pain. Well, I've taken then before, and so shouldn't do so bad this time…-hopes to pass Chinese test with a C-

**Alsdssg**: Yeah, I'm never too sure about religious holidays, but giving up chocolate is PAINFUL. How long is Lent? Easter IS right after, don't you, and it's like a chocolate stuffing festival. Or something like that. I can't remember. I just know that I got chocolate eggs on Easter, which is kind of ironic because it's not like I celebrate the holiday. X.x Any excuse to pig out, I guess.

**Noodlez**: XD Hopefully, this chapter had lots of Thorn/Murtagh bonding time to make you happy! I know this was easy to write, anyway. A pleasant change for once from the chapters I have to practically dig out word by word from solid rock.

**BlindSeer220**: Still, the problem is I'm not really sure how to finish it. With Galbatorix getting his royal butt kicked? With Murtagh and Eragon kicking ass and ruling the world together? Just so many possibilities, and no Plot to get there!

**Meep meep**: AU means alternate universe, but this really isn't. I mean, it takes place in a reasonable timeline of the books…

**Dragon-Rider-Murtagh**: Llynis is dead. Dead as a doornail. Which is weird, because why are only doornails dead? O.o Well, why fuss about idioms…oh wells.

Nasuada/Murtagh? I don't know. I made Murtagh have a past relationship in T&M, which is why I'm hesitant to start one now (even with a canon character). But it's an idea.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yeah, the appendicitis started off as a really bad stomachache. My sister told me I got the lousy appendicitis because of a guava seed that landed on the appendix or something, and I was like, What? A seed gave me appendicitis? O.o Oookay.

**Joralie**: No Murtagh/Eragon here, but Murtagh/Thorn abounds. Gotta have some bonding time between a man and his dragon, don't ya think?

**Treenonfire13**: For once, I feel half-sympathetic towards Eragon, the poor nitwit. Nothing can be the same, and yet how hard he tries!

**My-Lover-Gren-Gren**: Yeppo, getting appendicitis ranks right up there with a cousin getting married or a volcano blowing up in your face. Or something. Still, I'd rather have the cousin getting married…tis' less painful. (For me. I don't know about the cousin.)

**Lady Shana**: Aw, I feel flattered now. Well, I don't know. I guess all I can really do now is to update as often as possible…which really amounts to once a week. But to sound all clichéd, at least slow but steady wins the race! –waves flag- Take that, CP.

**Dark Seroph**: -laughs- Does you have sugar high bunnies? You know you've got to have sugar high bunnies for anything even remotely painful.

Well, when book 3 comes out, I suppose I'll have tons of inspiration for new Murtagh-related fics. –huggles- My Murtagh will always have bored fanfic writers writing about him, yours truly included…

**Dreamgirlhoo**: Nah, I wrote some of it out longhand out of sheer boredom, before coming back home and writing the rest of it out. Gotta do something to stay occupied. Besides, my conscience kept kicking me, the nasty little thing. X.x

**Crystalline Sunset**: Well, I guess. Once you get 22 chapters into pretty much anything, you can't just give up…

So, I shall be optimistic and look towards the sunrise. Hurrah! Anyways, I thought T&M was going to take me forever, too, but that only wound on for about 40 chapters. So yay, I'm halfway there! XD

**Zenna**: Yeah, the final volume of ANY trilogy tends to be kind of…iffy. I mean, it's got to conclude, but more often than not it involves a whole lot of killing, blood, and gore. –pokes _His Dark Materials, Matrix_, _LoTR_- Can't get any worse than that, eh? Thank you!

**Lesley**: Wow, that's blunt. XD Aw, CP ain't THAT bad, now is he? Admittedly, _Eldest_ was a bit wordy and _Eragon_ had a horribly stereotypical plot, but the preview of the third book don't sound too bad, now does it? But then again, it's only one chapter. But be optimistic! That's my new philosophy.

**Fallen angel**: -hides- Okay, I shan't delete it! I dread to think of all the rotten tomatoes I shall have to dodge if I do. Besides, who can resist maraschino cherries, if I even spelled that right? O.o

**Revieww!!! XD**


	23. Indirectly

**-insert random comment here-**

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_10/22/101 _

_Night_

Murtagh trailed after Eragon and Arya as they pelted down the corridor, up a flight of stairs and into a large hallway. All the time, Arya was speaking in a low voice to Eragon, too soft for Murtagh to hear.

_Thorn?_ he said in his mind. _Are you still with me?_

_Always,_ came the answer. _What's going on?_

_I'm not sure,_ Murtagh said, a feeling of fractured relief rushing towards him upon knowing that his dragon was still there, still with him. _Wait…_

The cluster of guards around something in the center parted for them, eyes fixing suspiciously on Murtagh. He ignored them, something that he was becoming rather good at doing, glancing instead at the bodies lying in the center. There were two—one male, in the palace dress of a higher servant, and one female, clearly an elf.

"Inari-elda," Arya breathed softly, leaning down by the elf. Inhaling slowly, she reached down, fumbling for a pulse.

"Is she alive?" Eragon asked after a moment, his voice low.

"Yes," Arya said, looking distracted. Closing her eyes, she placed her hands on the elf's ribs, were the wounds were the worst. Murtagh could feel the soft hum of magic as the wounds began to seal, the blood vanishing.

Eragon stepped around them to where the man was, Murtagh trailing behind him. Dropping to his knees, Eragon turned the man over, prying the knife from his hands and sliding it across the room, where it clattered noisily into the wall.

The man's eyes opened a fraction, glazed and incoherent. Breathing hard, Eragon snapped, "Who are you? Who hired you to do this?"

A weak gurgle was the only answer. Leaning forward, Eragon pressed his fingers against the man's forehead, his eyes closing in concentration. Underneath him, the man convulsed, a rattled gasp coming from his mouth.

Murtagh's gaze flickered back and forth between Arya and Eragon, slightly unsettled. All he knew was that the man had attacked the elf, screaming Galbatorix's name all the while. The thought was disturbing, sending uneasy flutters into his stomach—even in Surda, even in the heart of the Varden, Galbatorix's presence was still here…

_Focus, Murtagh,_ Thorn's voice sounded, firm and reassuring.

He pulled himself together, just in time to hear a soft curse from beside him as Eragon stood, his expression grim. "He committed suicide," he said tersely in response to Murtagh's puzzled look. "I couldn't even get his _name_." He glared briefly at the dead man, and then snapped at the guards, "Andrei, Taryan—burn the body."

Two guards stepped over obediently, hauling the body away. Eragon watched them go, his expression hard. Murtagh, aware of the suspicious glares fixed on him, leaned carefully over to Eragon and murmured quietly, "Perhaps the elf can tell you more, Eragon."

Eragon glanced at him, then sighed. "Perhaps."

They made their way over to where Arya was, crouched over the form of the elf. The wounds had sealed completely, leaving only faint scars to show they were ever there. Both elves were stirring, waking up.

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_What…_

"Inari-elda," the voice came softly, "How do you feel?"

Inari opened her eyes slowly, disoriented in the seemingly overwhelming light. Slowly, she sat up, brushing her dark hair from her eyes.

Arya Svit-kona stood before her, her eyes dark and grave. Inari sat up slowly, her memories rushing wildly in a circle, holding her fingers to her temples. "Inari-elda?" Arya repeated, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

Inari glanced at Arya almost dreamily, feeling unsettled. "I was attacked," she said slowly, as if trying the words out. She glanced at Arya for confirmation.

Arya nodded once, her hands brushing Inari's gently. "Your attacker is dead," she said, her voice low and soothing. "He claimed to be from Galbatorix, but before he could give us further information, he committed suicide. He was already badly injured from your defenses." She hesitated, and added, "Can you stand?"

Inari blinked at the question, then nodded once. And to be truthful, she could—although she had a distinctly nasty memory of being knifed several times in the side, nothing really hurt. Carefully, she took Arya's hand, standing up unsteadily.

There were men around them—guards, mostly, but there were two that didn't wear the palace liveries. One she recognized, of course—Eragon, who nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The other was tall, well-built, his dark hazel eyes cool and distant. Even as she glanced at him, he turned to meet her gaze, calm and appraising.

She recognized him instantly—the red Rider, of course. As one of Queen Islanzadi's chosen elfin spellcasters, she'd been one of those chosen to transport him from Uru'baen back to Surda. Still, seeing him up and awake _was_ a bit surprising, since she'd only ever seen him asleep before.

"Rider," she greeted, meeting his gaze calmly.

He nodded slightly. "Elf," he returned.

"Murtagh, Eragon, would you please excuse us?" Arya asked politely, though it was clear from her tone that it wasn't a question. At her nod, a pair of guards detached themselves from the wall, glaring at the Rider with barely concealed suspicion. Between the two of them, they shepherded him down the hall and back downstairs to his quarters, Eragon trailing just behind.

Inari watched them go, frowning slightly. "Arya Svit-kona, isn't that a little risky?" she asked carefully.

"He is still deprived of his magic," Arya said calmly. "I gave him just enough to rebond with his dragon, and I believe that at heart, he wishes to cooperate with us." She hesitated. "In any case, Eragon is there, and the guards are authorized to use as much force as necessary to subdue him."

"He is a dangerous opponent," Inari said, keeping her voice calm.

Arya looked sharply at her. "I know you don't approve of this project, Inari-elda, but desperate times call for desperate measures. In any case, what's done is done—it's far too late to back out now."

Inari bowed her head, struggling to find the words to express her feelings. In her opinion, the whole idea was entirely wrong in the first place, and the idea of such a violation sickened her. Still, it hadn't been her decision to make—from the start, the elven contingent of spellcasters had been firmly kept under several regulations and treaties, making them effectively a useful tool and nothing more.

A light touch on her arm drew her out of her thoughts. Arya sighed. "Walk with me, Inari-elda."

Inari followed Arya around the corner, down a flight of stairs and into a small room at the end. It seemed to be a storage room of some sort, with layers of carpets stacked neatly in piles against the wall. Arya closed her eyes momentarily, and Inari could feel the soft hum of magic as the room was sealed against eavesdroppers.

"So," the elfin princess said finally, opening her eyes.

"So," Inari returned, waiting for Arya to speak.

Arya sighed, running her finger over a particularly shabby carpet that was losing much of its embroidery. "What do you suppose this should mean?" she said at last. "A messenger from Galbatorix, sent to attack the elves?"

"It's hardly surprising," Inari said softly. "We've wondered why he hasn't taken greater action on behalf of his Rider. Perhaps this is his revenge…?"

"To kill us all one by one until we return Murtagh to him?" Arya said, raising an eyebrow.

Inari shrugged. "Wasn't there a man a while ago, screaming about Galbatorix's vengeance in the halls? Superstitions, fears and gossip...it's a potent combination, Arya Svit-kona. Sooner or later the fears will begin, and once they do, it's nearly impossible to stop."

Arya hesitated. "You are much older than I am, so I should trust your judgment of this," she said at last, "but I must admit that I do harbor mild doubts about that, Inari-elda."

Inari paused, brushing her hair back from her face. Inhaling slowly, she tapped her fingers meditatively on a stretch of musty carpet before saying anything. "I think that we should accomplish what we set out to do as quickly as possible," she said finally, "and then do whatever is necessary to placate Galbatorix. We _must_ have more Riders, Arya Svit-kona…for this to succeed, or for us to find the third Rider—a child, I believe? Still time for us to bring her to our side."

Arya looked at her sharply. "You don't believe that the Rider we have now can be loyal to us?"

"Murtagh?" Inari said in surprise. "Son of _Morzan_, the last of the Wyrdfell?"

"Yes," Arya said, frowning.

Inari hesitated. "No," she said finally. "I don't."

Arya looked distinctly annoyed at this, but the expression lasted for barely a second before being replaced by a neutral mask. "I see," she said at last.

Inari folded her hands together, waiting.

"I think you should speak to him more, before making such a judgment," Arya said finally. She glanced at Inari, her eyes grave. "We cannot afford to make enemies, especially by such hasty verdicts. Murtagh is…he may not be the enemy we found in his father, Inari-elda. He is possibly an ally."

Inari said nothing, dozens of retorts to the contrary jumping to her mind before promptly dying out. It _was_ true that she hadn't even talked to the Rider…but still, if he was _anything _like his father…

"Keep an open mind," Arya said softly. She inclined her head, touching her hand to her lips. "Good night to you, Inari-elda."

Silently and quickly, she slipped out of the room.

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Eragon seemed quiet and meditative as they walked along, and Murtagh didn't feel up to saying much either, to either Eragon or Thorn. It wasn't until they were descending the second flight of stairs that Eragon said abruptly, "What value does Galbatorix place on you, Murtagh?"

The question took Murtagh by surprise, his eyes narrowing as he studied Eragon. "Large enough, I should think," he said after a moment. "Riders turn the balance of power, Eragon…you know that."

Eragon sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He looked uneasy for a moment, his eyes studying Murtagh slowly. Finally, he said quietly, "Yes. I do."

Murtagh grimaced slightly, looking away from Eragon's gaze. He stared at the wall for a moment, searching for something inane to say—"Who was that back there?" he managed at last.

Eragon blinked, looking startled at the sudden change of topic. "The elf, you mean? With Arya?"

"Yes," Murtagh said, unable to keep a slight patronizing tinge from touching his voice.

Eragon's eyes narrowed, but he answered anyway. "Inari of House Taerinng. She's one of the contingent of elves, a spellcaster."

Murtagh digested this information, turning the name idly over and over in his mind. "Ah," he said finally. "What happened, precisely?"

Eragon shrugged lightly. "I haven't gotten the details myself. Arya tells me that a servant attacked Inari and was wounded fatally, but that's all." He paused, then added, "And he was screaming Galbatorix's name over and over as he attacked."

Murtagh sighed, looking down at his hands. There was a long pause until anyone spoke, and then Murtagh said flatly, "I _am_ a danger to you. To the Varden."

Eragon's jaw tightened. "We know."

"And yet here I am. You haven't even bothered to put any wards on me, except for taking my magic away. Why the freedom? The hospitality? Surely you'd be more…cautious?"

Eragon looked frustrated, almost petulant. "Do you _want_ to be chained up inside a cell, having your meals shoved in through the prison door?" he snapped.

"Not particularly," Murtagh said mildly. "It's just curious, that's all."

Eragon hesitated, obviously seeking to change the subject. "You'll understand later," he said at last. "We're…well, we're trying certain spells out, so hopefully you'll be free soon. Arya tells me there are certain rituals…"

He paused, looking abstractedly out into the distance. Then, suddenly—"There's a third Rider, Murtagh?"

Murtagh glanced at him, suddenly wary. "Yes," he said slowly, his voice cautious. "Why?"

"Who?" Eragon asked, ignoring his question.

Murtagh set his jaw, the irrational irritation of a few hours earlier suddenly surging back into his veins. The visit to Thorn had helped calm it, helped smooth it over—but that didn't mean it wasn't still _there…_The calm, methodical tone of Eragon's voice—as if he had a right to ask, when he gave no answers himself!

"Why should I tell you?" Murtagh hissed softly, his eyes narrowing. Sensing the turmoil of emotions, Thorn's voice rose out, but it failed to make any headway against the growing annoyance. "What have you done for me?"

Eragon looked wary, his eyes flicking behind Murtagh. He could feel the brush of guards behind his back and pulled away, breathing hard.

"I'd like to go back to my quarters," Murtagh said finally, staring fixedly at a blank length of wall. "If you don't mind."

Eragon hesitated, then nodded. The walk back was short and terse, neither Rider saying much. As the door swung shut behind him, Murtagh dropped onto the bed, rubbing his face with his hands with a sigh.

_That went well,_ Thorn said.

_Oh, shut up,_ Murtagh grunted.

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Orca sat curled up on the bed, her eyes idly flicking back and forth from Derek to Anil to Rina. The woman hadn't stopped crying ever since her accusation against Galbatorix, and she could taste amusement from Anil's mind as he watched the unfolding drama.

_The Visitor does look rather frazzled, doesn't he?_ Anil commented. _Nothing he does seem to shut the Second Woman up._

It was true, really—despite Derek's best efforts, Rina continued to cry. And cry. And cry. "All right!" Derek burst out for the tenth time, pacing around the room. "I'm not saying I don't believe you. But you can't just go around and _accuse_ things like this—"

"I _know_ he's after me!" Rina screamed into his face. Derek looked taken aback, stepping back a pace. "You asked me to tell you the truth, and I _did_. Now help me. Please. Please!"

Orca propped her head on her arms, leaning into Anil's warm flank. Derek looked helpless, spreading his hands in a circle. "Look, I'm in this as deep as you are. If his majesty knows I'm harboring a runaway—"

"He _knows_ me," Rina whispered, huddling into the blankets.

"Well, I'm sure he's not obsessed with finding you," Derek said crossly. "If you're afraid of his majesty, then why don't you go? If you can get in, you can get out. Run away."

Rina looked at him like he had just descended from the sky, all halos and flowing harps. "Really?" she whispered softly.

"Really."

"He's not going to find me?" she said, clutching the bedspread tighter.

Derek hesitated—Orca could see that he felt bad making a promise that he couldn't necessarily keep to this woman, deranged as she was. "Really really," he said at last. "In fact, I'll even walk you out."

"Out of the castle," Rina breathed. She glanced at him anxiously, and added, "And Uru'baen?"

"Well—" Orca could see Derek was definitely uneasy about that particular idea, but finally he nodded. "All right. Uru'baen, too. I'll get you out of the city borders, and his majesty won't come after you. You'll be safe, all right?"

Rina nodded fervently, her lip trembling. Orca leaned back, resting her head against Anil's shoulder.

_She's mad,_ the green dragon said cheerfully.

Grain of truth to every madness.

_Yes, well, I suspect this particular grain's popped, if she thinks that the Man really cares that much about her._ He hesitated, then added, _Do you think it's true, though? That the Man would…use us, and that's why she tried to kill us? That we're…_

He didn't finish the thought. Orca shrugged, her eyes fluttering shut.

It doesn't matter, she thought vaguely at Anil.

And then she was asleep.

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**Well, I think this chapter is a bit dull, don't you? –shrugs- Well, hopefully it'll get better. Some chapters come, and some don't. This one had to be dragged out kicking and screaming…**

**But I do have nifty news! I have a plot! Like, a real, live, kickass plot! –hugs plot to self- Okay, I only planned it up to chapter 34, but a lot of things happen that make me vewy happy. –nods- So hang tight, it'll get MUCH better, believe you me.**

**Oh, and PoTC NEXT WEEK! YAAAY. You know, I'm still annoyed because Shrek III doesn't come out here until JUNE 15th, which just sucks big fat donkey eggs. X.x Oh wells…**

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**Noodlez: **It's coming out in November? Where're you getting this? –blinks- I never knew!

About Rina? Um. Well. She has an indirect effect, and that's all I'm gonna say about it. While she doesn't do things _directly_, the chain of events that she sets off will result in something else happening…you know what, I love having a plot. It's so much fun. Now I can actually make mysterious predictions! Yaaayness. XD

**Dragon Rider Murtagh**: You should. –shameless plug-in- I actually think T&M is a way better fic than VF, but that may just be because T&M is finished. X.x

**Niham**: Thanks! Yeah, I'm a bit dreading book 3 coming out. I really wouldn't mind if it took till next year—I've got my HP6 to keep me happy till then. x.X Course, a lot of other people wouldn't agree with me, so whatever.

**Ariel32**: Thorn and Murtagh are cool. They're the coolest characters EVA, mostly because CP shows just enough of them to demonstrate their coolness, as opposed to not showing them at all (Galbatorix) or showing them too much into total idiots (Eragon). –nods- They deserve some bonding time!

**Coolhassan**: -nods- Yeah, I am feeling better. Especially now that midterms are over. WHeee, I'm happy.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: I shared the seed theory with my friends, and one of them said the same thing. I want official evidence! –shakes fist at sky- Since when do guava seeds cause appendicitis?!

But it may be just that I'm bitter. Anyway, so Stupid Lesson of the Day: Don't eat guava seeds. And that is that. X.x

**Dark Seroph**: No, Eragon and Nasuada don't work, not really. I think Murtagh/Nasuada would be okay, but E/N is even worse than E/A. –shudders- Eragon should just stay celibate for the rest of his life. –pats on head- Or if he gets really desperate, he can always hook up with Trianna.

**Meep meep**: Thanks!

**Fredsonetrueluv**: I think the whole anger thing was because nobody would tell him anything and nobody would let him see Thorn. –nods- Or whatever. I can't even psychoanalyze my own writing…yeck.

Cockroaches are the foulest creatures ever to walk this PLANET! I squished one the other day. Twas' very satisfying. –evil cackle-

**Lady Elora**: Actually, that scene does sound halfway interesting. But not interesting enough to haul my butt to the video store to rent it, nor to interrupt my current Matrix obsession. X.x

Finals? You've got finals already? Damn…we don't get ours till the end of JUNE!

**My-Lover-Gren-Gren**: Smile! It confuzzles people. Yes, that's my wise saying of the day…

**Dreamgirlhoo**: You saw a cockroach at a Wendys? EW! The only place I've ever seen cockroaches is my desk (because I eat stuff there and don't bother to clean up) and near the trash cans. –shudders- They're HUGE there. Like, size of your thumb huge.

**Coffee Grounds**: -glomptackle- You're back? Heeyyy! –waves- Anyway, does Eragon have evil? He's just stupid, really, but all saintly because he's gooood. Yep yep yep. –nods randomly-

**Alsdssg**: Meh...you got me there. Eh, maybe Rina was just so unbearably whiny, while Llynis was just scared? Eh? –nods- But wait, Rina's scared too. Um. Yeah. –nods again-

No, Mattes wasn't the one who attacked Inari. He'll come back in…two chapters. –nods once more- I love having a plot. It's so spiffeh.

**REVIEW!**


	24. Making Arrangements

**Excuses: Last week—PotC bug. This week—going to Taipei. **

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_10/23/101_

_Morning_

_Surda_

Inari woke to a dull ache in her side and blinding sunlight through the window. With a small sigh, she sat up, the usual pit of melancholy expanding inside her stomach as the ugly Surdan buildings reared outside her window. What she would _give_ for the leafy boughs of Ellesmera, the green woods around her.

A small knock on the door made her look up, and yet another sigh escaped her involuntarily. For some reasons, the servants around here never seemed to understand that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much. Wincing, she swung herself out of bed and unlocked the door with a burst of magic. "Come in," she called politely.

The door swung open to reveal a servant carrying a few cloths and a bucket of water. Inari smiled vaguely at him, trying to think of a polite way to dismiss him when Arya Svit-Kona came in just behind him, her eyebrows slanted together in a slight frown.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin," Inari said softly, straightening.

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr," the elfin princess returned. Formalities done, Arya cocked her head slightly and said, "Still abed, Inari-elda?"

Inari shrugged. "Healings always tire me out, Arya Svit-kona," she returned.

Arya raised an eyebrow. "I see. As it is past time for breakfast, perhaps you'd like to join us for a midday meal? There are a few matters that we should discuss."

Inari nodded absently. Leaving the servant behind to do whatever cleaning work he had to do, the two elves headed down to one of the myriad lesser dining rooms—small and less formal, but infinitely more comfortable. Stopping at the threshold, Inari frowned slightly at the sight of the other occupants of the room—Eragon Shadeslayer, a woman that she didn't recognize, Nasuada, and the Red Rider.

"I had the impression this was a private meal," Inari said, her voice mild.

"It _is_ private," said Nasuada, rising from her seat. "As private as we can make it. Arya, Inari, please sit down." She glanced at the woman beside her. "May I introduce Trianna to you? She is the leader of Du Vrangr Gata, the magic-wielders of the Varden."

Trianna stood, eyeing them appraisingly. "Pleasure," she said in a voice that clearly indicated it wasn't a pleasure at all. Inari blinked at the blatant rudeness in the voice, giving her best meaningless social smile at the woman, inclining her head in reply.

"So, Nasuada-sana," Inari said, using the female honorific for a woman of a great ability, "Why precisely are we here?"

Nasuada gave a small shrug, glancing sideways at the Red Rider. The gesture was small, but everybody's eye followed her gaze to stare at Murtagh, critical and considering. He seemed bored by all the attention, leaning his chair against the wall. "Well?" he said, his voice low and scathing.

Nasuada sighed, steepling her fingers together. "The facts are thus, Murtagh—as Galbatorix holds your true name, you are and will still be a threat to us. Judging by the events of the day before, I think we can reasonably assume that Galbatorix wants you back, and he's not very subtle about it, either." She made a face, glancing sideways at Inari. "I assume you are better, Inari?"

Inari nodded.

"All right," Nasuada said, and continued. "As it would be inconvenient to keep you, Murtagh, under severe guard for the duration of your stay, we have been discussing solutions to lessen or perhaps destroy entirely the bonds that Galbatorix holds over you. As our spies indicate that Galbatorix has no intention yet of coming out to retrieve you himself, I believe we will have enough time to find at least a temporary solution." She stopped, her eyes flicking significantly to Arya and Inari.

Inari hesitated, glancing at Arya for guidance. The elfin princess shot her a warning glance back, standing up smoothly to cover the uncomfortable silence. "I have removed the active part of Murtagh's magic, leaving him with just enough to communicate with his dragon. Thorn himself is under guard by Saphira, and bound to her by certain oaths, so we have little to worry about on that count."

"Yes." Nasuada picked up the flow again, her expression composed. "What I think now remains is to find a good enough bind or barrier on Galbatorix's hold on you, Murtagh." She looked around the table. "If anyone has any suggestions?"

There was a sharp _thump_ as Murtagh's chair dropped back onto all four legs, his expression one of barely concealed distate. "I do have one question," he said at last, standing up. "It seems all rather haphazard, this little plan of yours. If I may ask, why am I _here_? You may have stopped the flow of my magic, but that doesn't mean it won't come back the second that barrier is taken away. You _know_ there is no way to negate the force a true name holds over a person. So what do you want with me? To join you? To fight for you?" He smiled bitterly. "With magic comes both binding and power. The second I'm of any use to you, the second that I will turn against you. Or else go mad, I'm not sure which."

Nasuada looked at him gravely. "Here's a question for you, Murtagh," she said quietly. "If you could—if out of your own free will, without any spells upon you—_would_ you be one of us? Would you fight against Galbatorix?"

The silence was thick, heavy with anticipation. Murtagh's eyes flicked over every one of them, his expression calculating. Inari leaned forward slightly in her chair, her eyes watching his reactions carefully.

Murtagh exhaled sharply, breaking the silence. He stared out over their heads, at something that they couldn't see. "Yes," he said finally, his voice quiet. Inari leaned back, her stomach uncurling slightly with relief, only to clench again as he continued, "But the fact is that there _are_ spells on me. Spells of power, of binding…" He trailed off, his expression distant. "With Arya binding my magic, you've stopped it temporarily, but like I said—if you give it back, then you give—well, _everything_ back. The spells, the…"

He didn't finish the sentence, his expression—just for the barest second—tired and vulnerable. Inari closed her eyes, a small ripple of guilt coiling through her.

_Focus, Inari-elda._

She didn't know if that voice was herself or Arya, but it worked. Carefully, she hardened herself, forcing herself to think rationally. Opening her eyes, she saw that Murtagh had sat back down again, the vulnerability gone—his expression once again flat and scornful.

"Well." Trianna coughed slightly, a slight revulsion on her face. "That's very well and good. What now?"

Eragon Shadeslayer stood up. "What we have now on Murtagh is a binding spell that lies over his magic, preventing him from accessing it. I propose that we add a _skolir-dehren _to overlay it, preventing Galbatorix from reading or controlling Murtagh's mind from Uru'baen." He hesitated, then added, "And also, adding a clause into the spell that will automatically throw you into unconsciousness and immobility if such an attack should occur, preventing Galbatorix from controlling you against us. From Uru'baen, at least."

All eyes slanted to Murtagh to see his reaction. A slightly ironic smile jumped to his lips as he shrugged slightly. "If you wish."

Eragon pushed his chair back, crossing over to stand behind Murtagh. Arya watched him, her expression neutral. "Do you require assistance?" she said.

Eragon nodded. "The more people that fuel this spell, the better. The stronger it is, the more pressure it can withstand."

Chairs scraped as Inari and Arya stood, ready to add their own weight to the spell. Only Trianna did not move, disgust clear on her face.

"You really think that'll help?" she said scornfully, waving a hand in Murtagh's direction. "To help tie this traitor up?"

"Trianna," Nasuada said, her voice sharp.

"I refuse to add my own power to such a ridiculous proposal," she snapped, standing up sharply. "Du Vrangr Gata does not support this, and neither do I. You should've never brought him here in the first place." Her expression hard, she glared at Nasuada. "You've destroyed the Varden, Nasuada, by allowing him here."

She stalked out of the room, slamming the door in her wake. Inari raised an eyebrow, wondering if she should say something when Arya brushed her lightly on the wrist, her mind touching hers in a private communication.

_She doesn't know_.

_And for good reason, I see,_ Inari said softly.

_It _will_ work out, Inari-elda,_ Arya said calmly. _Have faith. It only takes time._

Inari hesitated, then sighed slowly. _I hope you're right, Arya Svit-kona_, she said quietly.

A murmur from Eragon brought her back into the present as the subtle buzz of the spell began. Closing her eyes, Inari began to fuel the spell.

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_Uru'baen_

"It's not as if it's your execution," Derek said, his voice revealing just a hint of temper. "Rina, I've got work to do, so I can't take all day—"

Rina stared at him with wild eyes, clutching the blanket tighter to her chest. "You _promised!_" she howled, rocking back and forth. "You said you'd take me out of Uru'baen—"

"I _am_ taking you out of Uru'baen!" Derek yelled, his temper snapping. "So why won't you _come_? Look, the door's wide open, all you have to do is come out and walk into the hall, out of the palace, and out of the city gates—"

"Not now," Rina said in a panicked whisper. "Not in daylight!"

"And what, if I may ask, is so dangerous about daylight?" Derek asked, exasperated. He glared at the frenzied woman, his annoyed demeanor crumbling under Rina's obvioius fear. With a sigh, Derek rubbed his head with his hands, trying to compose his voice.

"Look, Rina," he said finally. "Nobody will hurt you, all right? Nobody is looking for you. All you have to do is to get up. Walk out, and you'll be safe from whatever bogeyman is chasing you."

"_He'll_ find me," Rina whispered.

"No, he won't," Derek said firmly. "Just stand up. Relax. Walk out. It's that simple."

Rina's eyes darted from him to the door and back, obviously undecided. As he waited, Derek crossed his arms, uncomfortably aware of Orca's gaze at him, cool and emotionless. He glanced at her briefly, wincing away from those flat mud brown eyes and that—_dragon—_next to her. Or whatever.

"You promise?" Rina's voice sounded out softly, breaking into his reverie.

Derek sighed. "Yes. I do."

Rina let go of the blanket, climbing shakily out of the bed. Derek muffled a soft sigh of relief as she stood, wobbling as if unsure of how to walk.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

She shook her head, doddering her way to the door. Derek checked the hall both ways—it was empty—before letting Rina out. Behind them, Orca and Anil followed.

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Galbatorix leaned back in his chair, unable to keep a very smug grin from spreading across his face as he ran his fingers lightly over the surface of the scrying basin, breaking up the image. If his spies' reports were correct, then everything was working just fine.

He cleared the scrying basin and stood, allowing himself a luxurious stretch. Checking the hourglass by the wall, he got a jolt of surprise as he realized it was late—much, much later than he had thought. The sand was nearing the noon mark, which incited a soft rumble of hunger from his stomach.

Well, he might be able to catch a late breakfast. Standing up, Galbatorix was stretching slowly when the thought occurred to him suddenly—he hadn't seen either Anil _or_ Orca since yesterday.

Irrationally, a cold sweat jumped to his skin. He'd lost one Rider already, and he would _not_ lose a second. Breathing hard, he forced himself to calm down, pressing his fingers to his temples lightly. Slowly, ever so slowly, he cast out with his mind, searching for them.

His breath came out with a sharp _whoosh_ of relief as he located them almost immediately, opening his eyes with a slight smile. It was replaced almost immediately by a small frown as he recalled just _where_ their minds were. Groping around in a drawer, Galbatorix pulled out blueprints of the palace, tracing the building slowly. They were in the lower west wing, which was...

Servants' quarters? Puzzled, Galbatorix cast out again just to be sure. Yes, servants' quarters, with two other minds he couldn't quite identify. Huh. How odd. Ever since his Red Rider's disappearance, Orca had stayed mostly between Murtagh's quarters, the dining room, and Galbatorix's study. So who were these two servants, to have pulled her away?

He stood, regretfully consigning his breakfast to oblivion in favor of finding his errant Rider. Well, maybe once he sorted everything out he could catch a late brunch.

Tracing his fingertips along the wall, Galbatorix pushed at the unseen gap with his mind, feeling the false wall give way. Carefully, stealthily, he made his way out of the study.

Galbatorix trotted briskly down the hall, following the scent of Orca and Anil's minds. They were moving out of the hall and up, presumably to the palace gates. Picking up the pace, he rounded a corner and caught sight of a flash of scaly green tail, bounding up a flight of stairs.

"Orca," he called as they came into view—Orca and Anil, as well as a man and a woman dressed in the palace liveries. He slowed to a walk, smiling down at the four-year-old. "What are you doing here?"

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The Woman fainted.

Anil cocked his head, sliding out of the way just in time as the woman collapsed like a sack of oatmeal, a melodramatic shriek bursting out of her as she went. The Man looked puzzled, his eyes flicking from Derek to the Woman and back.

Derek's face was reddening into an interesting shade of purple-pink, bending down to hoist the Woman up. "Your majesty," he said with a deep bow. "I was just—_we_ were just walking out."

The Man looked at Derek, a bland smile crossing his features. "That's interesting, servant," he said, his voice cool. Reaching out, he grasped the Woman's hair, pulling her head back to look at her face.

He knows her, the thought came from Orca suddenly. Anil looked up, startled to see an expression of surprised recognition cross Galbatorix's face.

_So she _was_ telling the truth!_ Anil cried. _So she wasn't completely insane after all._

Indeed, the Man's expression was odd, growing to be a slight grin of amused malice the longer he regarded the Woman. He mouthed something—Anil couldn't make out what—but the next second the slight grin vanished, to be replaced by a slight frown. "Orca," he said slowly. Glancing sharply at Derek, he said, "What're you doing with her?"

Derek's expression was wild at he glanced at Orca and Anil and back. "I—they came to me," he said at last, the words bursting out of him. "They came to me, your majesty. They—apparently she—Rina—tried to kill them, and—the—uh—_dragon_—wounded her. So they brought her to me. They asked me for help, and so I patched her up and I was going to bring her out, your majesty, out of the palace and all." He stopped abruptly, biting his lip, his expression nervous.

The Man looked at Derek with a raised eyebrow. "I see," he said at last. He glanced at Orca, who stared at him back. "You went to him for help?"

Yes, Orca said, although the Man probably couldn't hear it. Anil said it for her, broadcasting it out—_Yes._

Derek jumped at the sound, looking wildly around until his eyes fell on Anil again. The Man ignored him, his face calculating, closed.

Finally, he smiled slightly, laying a hand on Derek's shoulder. "You did well," he said, his voice melodious. Glancing from Orca to Derek, he said, "This child needs a guardian, Derek. Will you do it? Will you take care of Orca, and—" the air hummed slightly—"Anil?"

"Anil?" Derek said, sounding dazed.

"Yes," the Man said softly, his voice still very soothing. "Orca and Anil. The child and the dragon. Will you?"

Anil watched Derek interestedly, watching as his face went slack. The air seemed to be vibrating slightly—or maybe he was imagining it, because the next second everything stilled, the strange tension vanishing as suddenly as it came.

"Yes, your majesty," Derek said, his voice sounding much more normal now. "I will."

"Good," the Man nearly purred, sounding a whole lot like a cat. He hoisted the Woman over his shoulder, smiling pleasantly at them. "Remember, Orca, Anil—Derek's your guardian now." He patted the unconscious Woman. "I'll take care of her."

Whistling slightly, he trotted down the hall. Derek stood for a moment, his expression one of stunned stupefaction before he snapped out of it suddenly, staring at Anil and Orca like he'd never seen them before.

_What?_ Anil asked.

"Oh," Derek said, rubbing his eyes. He grinned at them, his posture relaxing. "I must've been having a bad dream or something. Anil, Orca, come on. I'll take you back to my quarters."

He set off down the hall, Orca and Anil staring after him.

That's new,Orca thought mildly. All that jumpiness is gone.

_Huh._ Anil cocked his head. _How odd. He's our new guardian from now on, is that it?_

Think so, Orca said.

_Something's not right,_ Anil said finally.

Orca shrugged, following Derek down the hall.

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**Eh. Lame ending, whatever. I'm a bit rushed today because we're going to Taipei later on. So sorry, folks, no review responses today. Next week. Promise!**

**Ooh, and I watched PotC III. Whaddaya think? Fun, no? Or the end, anyway—the beginning was complicated, but nothing's perfect.**

**Anyway, g2g. –nods- Next week, y'all.**


	25. Catalyst

**GAAH! So sorry! So sorry! –falls to knees and grovels- Yes, I know I've been really really bad in not updating. No, I don't have a good excuse. X.x But anyway, one little thing—I'm going to camp for the next three weeks. –cowers as tomatoes are thrown- Sorryyy! But the gist of it is, I won't be able to update during that time.**

**I SWEAR I'll update when I get back. Really!**

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_10/23/101_

_Morning_

Mattes glanced furtively around the hall before bending back over the flowerpot, trying to look as if he were intent on his task and not on eavesdropping. Methodically, he rubbed at the dull pottery glaze, his attention focused on the hearing spell.

Frustrated, he shook his head, pushing angrily at the spell. They had put defenses around that room—anti-scrying defenses, protection spells, muting shields. Unbreakable walls of protection that protected gods-knew-what—deadly defense secrets? Secret councils? With a curse, Mattes straightened. All he knew for certain were the occupants of the room—the lady Nasuada, Eragon Shadeslayer, the Red Rider, the elf Arya, and another elf he didn't recognize. Oh, and the leader of the little magic sect of the Varden—Trinity? Trina?

Gods knew how long they would be in there. He didn't even know why they were there—

The door swung open with a slam and a _bang_, making Mattes jump. Hurriedly, he bent over the pot again, but the gesture was entirely unnecessary—the woman (Tria or something like that) who had slammed the door didn't even glance in his direction as she stalked in the opposite direction, her stride decidedly annoyed. Mattes's eyes jerked to the direction of the open doorway, but before he could move, the door clicked shut again and the barriers sealed.

For a moment, Mattes pondered ransacking the woman's mind, deciding against it with a regretful sigh. She was trained in magic, however pathetically, and would be able to sense his attack. With a sigh, Mattes glanced back at the door, hoping that it would swing open again.

It didn't.

Glumly, Mattes glanced around the corridor again. He couldn't stay here for too long; somebody would get suspicious. With a small sigh of regret, Mattes tied a slight alarm magic to the door, to warn him if the door opened.

Picking up his cloth, he trudged half-heartedly down the hall.

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Inari rose out of the spell slowly, feeling as if somebody had hit her on the head—or worse, stabbed her all over again. The other spellcasters looked similarly shaken—Arya could barely stand, while Eragon was blinking dazedly into space, a vacant expression on his face.

"Here," a soft voice said, and Inari felt an arm at her elbow, settling her gently down onto a chair. Inari murmured her thanks as she rubbed her eyes slowly, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming.

"Are you all right?" Nasuada asked quietly as she helped Arya sit down. "That took…a long time."

Inari looked up sharply. "How long, Nasuada-sana?"

Nasuada shrugged. "I'd say two hours, give or take." She smiled at Inari's startled expression. "I take it that the spell was difficult?"

Inari glanced at Murtagh. He looked slightly shaken, his polished coolness momentarily exchanged for an uneasy confusion, a faint blush in his cheeks. "Quite difficult," Inari answered after a moment.

"That's an understatement," Eragon Shadeslayer added as he stumbled to his own seat, rubbing his face with his hands.

Nasuada looked from one of them to another, a faint frown on her face. "I won't admit that I'm particularly adept at magic, but correct me if I'm wrong—the _skolir-dehren_ is an overlay _over_ the subject's magic, isn't it? You don't actually interfere with the person himself."

"Yes, well, something resisted us," Arya said quietly. She rubbed her temples with her fingers, a tired frown on her face. She glanced at Murtagh briefly, and then continued, "But the important thing is that the spell is cast."

"Not without much difficulty," Eragon Shadeslayer muttered, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood idly.

Nasuada sucked in a slow breath of air, letting it out with a sharp _whoosh_. "Well, then," she said at last. "If the spell worked, I hardly see…that is…I think we can afford to loosen the bonds over Murtagh. Less severe guard, that is." Nasuada stopped abruptly, just a hint of red creeping into her ebony skin.

Inari raised an eyebrow at Nasuada's uncharacteristic agitation, but said, "I think that can be allowed."

"As do I," Arya said firmly, echoed a second later by Eragon.

"Well, then," Nasuada said after a pause. She inhaled slowly, then turned to Murtagh. "I think we can agree to give you…a _limited_ amount of freedom. You must swear, however, to keep a guard with you at all times. You may visit your dragon, but no weapons—including Zar'roc—will be given to you. Understood?"

Murtagh hesitated, then nodded slowly. Still looking shaken, he said quietly, "I understand. I swear." Switching to the ancient language, he added, "Upon my word as a Rider."

There was a short, solemn silence, broken abruptly by Eragon as he swung open the door. "Then, I'm afraid I must depart," he said shortly, and strode out the door.

Nasuada glanced after him, her expression mildly startled. "Well, I'm afraid I must depart, too," she said at last. "I have left too many things unattended for too long. If you'll excuse me?" she asked politely of the elves, who nodded. "Please make sure you leave him in the custody of a guard."

She slipped out of the room in a rustle of cotton and lace, leaving Arya and Inari with Murtagh. Arya turned to Murtagh, her face calm and polite. "Is there anything you would like to do, Red Rider?"

He glanced at her distractedly, staring at her for a long moment. "Yes," he said at last, his voice rough. "If it's possible, I'd like to see Thorn again."

"That can be arranged," Arya told him softly. Turning to Inari, her mind brushed the other's briefly—_When you are done, Inari-elda, please come to me. We have much to discuss._

Inari nodded slightly in acknowledgement, watching as Arya headed out of the room.

"Well," Murtagh said quietly from behind her.

She turned as he stood, scraping the chair back. For the first time, she realized that he was as tall as she was—somewhat unusual, considering the fact that most humans only came up to her chin.

His gaze was calm, steady—it took her a bit of effort to gaze back just as calmly. In her most composed voice, Inari said, "If you want—I'll take you to your dragon now."

"Thorn," he said.

"Thorn," Inari agreed after a pause, inclining her head politely. "Shall we go?"

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Mattes jerked up as the warning magic screamed insistently in his ear, banging his head on a length of banister he had been polishing. Biting back a curse, he rubbed his head gingerly and grimaced.

Around him, busy voices hummed back and forth. Nonchalantly, Mattes strode down the hall, making his step brisk and busy. No one challenged him—he smiled, a little bitterly. It was rare that anyone noticed him, really.

Once he was around the corner, Mattes broke into an all-out spring, his heart pounding painfully in his ribs. When he came in view of the door, Mattes just barely skidded to a halt to avoid being seen—two people were leaving the room. One of them was the Red Rider, and another was an elf, by the looks of her hair.

He took a moment to compose himself—an agitated mind would only alert them to his presence—before following them. The route they took confused him initially—he'd thought that the elf was taking the Rider back to his chambers, or maybe even down to the dungeons. Instead, it led to the secondary courtyard, where there was—

Mattes gave an involuntary yelp at the sight and immediately ducked into the shadows, his heart pounding frantically. All right, he'd _known_ that being a Rider entailed having a dragon and all, but it had never really occurred to him that dragons were so—uh—_big_.

Fortunately, the elf and Rider hadn't seemed to notice him—sucking in a slow breath of angry relief, Mattes peeked gingerly into the courtyard.

The elf was speaking now, in a low tone of voice. Sending up a silent prayer, Mattes worked an amplification spell on her words, straining to catch what she was saying. It was patchy, imperfect—probably caused by his nervousness than anything else. Maybe he said the wrong words or something…

"...our hope that...with the spells we've put...to honor the trust..."

The voice faded away, to be replaced with the Red Rider's deep tone. "...try...despite deception and...but I will keep my oath."

"See to it that you do," Mattes heard the elf say, but that was about as far as he got. A hot pain flared in his ear as a set of strong fingers pinched it, yanking him upwards. Mattes squirmed, a cry of pain escaping him.

"Stop lazing about here," snapped his captor, a big, burly looking guard. "Get back to work, servant!"

Mattes stumbled onto the cool tiles of the courtyard, glaring furiously at the guard. He was tempted to jinx the man—a good curse would teach him manners—but as the Rider and elf were turning to look at him, it was probably best to beat an honorable retreat. Rubbing his ear, he fled into the palace.

_Still,_ Mattes thought bitterly, _I'll get him back for that._

Stumbling back to his quarters, Mattes bolted the door as he prepared to contact the emperor.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Galbatorix was sitting down to a late lunch when he felt the call, a slight tingling in his ear. With a sigh, he dumped his wine into a shallow plate, letting the picture form in there. "Yes?" he said impatiently, his fingers tapping moodily on the table. "What is it?"

The spy looked visibly nervous, but that was nothing unusual. Galbatorix heaved an inward sigh, listening idly as the man stuttered his way through the latest reports on the Varden.

So they put some spells on Murtagh; that was perfectly expected. This elf, whoever she was, was no doubt one of many in a line of babysitters. Galbatorix rubbed his temples, wondering if it was possible to get a migraine out of sheer boredom.

The spy finished his report, his eyes huge and anxious. Trying to put some tone of satisfaction into his voice, Galbatorix said with an effort, "Very well. Thank you, spy."

With that, he wiped the image and settled down to eat. _It's not like I have anything to worry about_, he thought mildly. _Soon the rebels will be oh-so-willing to give him back…_

He sighed, chewing on a tough length of ham meditatively. The woman he had picked up earlier from Derek—Rina? Ryna? He'd forgotten her name, but her face was certainly clear enough. The last of a band of misbegotten rebels that had had the audacity to try to steal the last dragon egg from him.

He snorted, throwing his napkin down. He'd thought she'd died—evidently not. She was still alive, annoyingly, and that meant he'd have to execute her himself this time, just to make sure she stayed properly dead.

Galbatorix shoved his chair back, about to stand up when the thought occurred to him. He could take Orca with him, to watch him kill the rebel. Young as Orca was, four years old, it wouldn't hurt to educate her in the darker magicks now. Besides, it'd be a good lesson for her—teach her what happened to the enemies of the empire.

Whistling slightly, Galbatorix reached out for Orca's mind. She was in the servant quarters, with Derek and her dragon. Walking briskly, he went to find her.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Murtagh closed his eyes as the elf left, breathing softly and slowly in an attempt to calm himself down. It worked somewhat, and not for the first time he was grateful for the silver lining in depriving his magic—he didn't have to suffer from the incessant voices anymore; didn't have to control his every emotion anymore.

_You're not moping, are you?_ a familiarly acidic voice asked.

_Me?_ Murtagh said without opening his eyes. _I don't mope. _

_Of course not,_ came the deep rumble, hard scales brushing his arm as Thorn's tail wrapped around him. _Copper for your thoughts, then?_

Murtagh sighed, opening his eyes to find Thorn staring at him, his head barely a foot away. _I'm just wondering,_ he said finally. _Wondering about…_

_Loyalty?_ Thorn suggested wryly.

Murtagh shrugged. _Close. _He was quiet for a moment, then said, _Thorn, what're we doing here?_

Thorn shrugged. _We're here because your Varden friends dragged us here. _

_Yes, but why?_ Murtagh persisted. _They must have a plan. They wouldn't have dragged us here for just 'testing' to see whether we could be made loyal or not._ He hesitated. _Thorn—_

_A moment, please,_ Thorn interrupted, his head whipping around to face someone that Murtagh couldn't see. _Would you mind giving us a little space?_ he said sharply. _We're not plotting the fall of Surda, so leave us alone._

He paused, then snorted, turning his head back to Murtagh. The Rider watched, eyebrows raised. _Saphira?_

_Yes,_ Thorn said, sounding exasperated. _I've sworn oaths to stay close to her, but she—_He trailed off, sounding disgusted. _If all female dragons are this contrary, it's a wonder that the dragon race ever managed to survive._

Murtagh smiled slightly. _Sounds like somebody's in denial._

Thorn rolled his eyes at him. _If you think that, you are truly insane,_ he growled. _I have better things to do with my time than to run after some stuck-up female dragon. I wouldn't mate with her for anything._

Murtagh shook his head, but let the subject drop. He leaned back against Thorn's scales, rubbing one scale with his thumb over and over.

_About what you were saying before, _Thorn said abruptly, _about why. Why we're here. What for. _He cocked his head. _What _were _you going to say?_

Murtagh hesitated. _I don't know_, he said finally. _They've put some spells on me to force me into immobility, if need be. Precautions, I suppose. _He smiled bitterly, then sighed. _Never mind that. But Thorn, it's so haphazard. So dangerous. I might not have magic, but Galbatorix could do anything—_

_Peace,_ the red dragon chided, silencing the flow of words. Thorn butted his head gently against Murtagh's arm, staring keenly into his Rider's eyes. _Don't obsess yourself over thoughts of 'what-ifs' or 'whys', _he said softly. _They'll do you no good, anyhow._

_Then what should I do?_ Murtagh asked softly, his voice a whisper.

_Wait,_ Thorn said distantly. _And relax. _He grinned a draconian smile, teeth showing. _This may be one of the few chances we have to be responsibility free, little Rider. Savor it while you can._

Murtagh grimaced._ Thanks a lot, _he said acidly.

Thorn huffed softly in amusement. _Relax. Enjoy it,_ he said. _And if anything new happens, tell me. _

He raised his head slightly, staring at something over Murtagh's shoulder. Murtagh twisted to look, and inwardly let out a small sigh. The elf, Inari, was back again, her hand raised as she beckoned.

_Go,_ Thorn said softly, nudging him. _I'll still be with you._

That was true. He did have Thorn.

Murtagh walked around the coil of Thorn's tail, halting just before the elf. He was aware of the suspicious eyes of men around him, the swords and spears ready to impale him should he make a wrong move. No matter what spells were on him, the Varden would never trust him…

"Murtagh," Inari said, her voice calm and emotionless. "I would escort you back to your rooms now."

"Why?" Murtagh asked, matching her flat tone. He could feel a subtle shifting in the men around him, as they tensed at this sign of rebellion. Allowing no emotion to touch his face, Murtagh continued, "It's been barely a few minutes. I believe, that in light of…what you've done to me…that a while more can be allowed."

The elf smiled—a pleasant, meaningless smile. "Saphira Brightscales must be somewhere, unfortunately, and your Thorn is bound to go with her. Thus, you must excuse this interruption, I'm afraid. Come along."

She turned slightly, her eyes fixed on him. Murtagh inhaled slowly. _Thorn?_

_Oh, what does it matter?_ the dragon sighed. _I'm used to be dragged around with Saphira on her various errands. Besides, it doesn't really matter, in the long run. Go ahead._

Murtagh nodded inwardly. He met the eyes of the elf, matching the smile perfectly. "Certainly," he said. "I'll come."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thorn watched moodily as his Rider vanished into the palace, dogged by at least three soldiers. Behind him, he heard Saphira unfurl her wings with a snap, arcing towards the sky.

_Come on!_ she roared down at him. _Let's go!_

_Your wish, my command,_ Thorn said sarcastically as he followed her motion. The blue dragon ignored this like she did everything he said, circling around to another part of the palace. She landed with a heavy thump in the courtyard, where Eragon was waiting, an anxious look on his elfin face.

Of course. He'd been dragged away from Murtagh just so that Saphira Brightscales could catch some precious time with her Eragon Shadeslayer.

Thorn landed next to her, his tail lashing with irritation. Eragon gave him an odd look and Saphira turned her head, but Thorn was too annoyed at this point to give a damn about how they felt. He paced the courtyard, inciting nervous looks from the people around them.

Eragon and Saphira were talking now, and the conversation didn't seem to be very pleasant. Thorn watched them out of the corner of his eye, watching as Eragon's brow puckered as he frowned, and Saphira's tail grew just as agitated as Thorn's own. The blue dragon huffed softly, the tone full of quiet exasperation. Both of them, dragon and Rider alike, raised their heads to glance furtively at Thorn.

Thorn glared back at them. After a moment, Eragon turned away, but Saphira continued to stare intently back, her eyes half-slitted with an emotion that Thorn couldn't quite name.

He hissed at her. Saphira's tail raised slightly, and Thorn eyed her with annoyed anticipation. So fight. Bring it on.

Abruptly, she whipped her head back to Eragon, her eyes dark and focused. Thorn snorted, disgusted.

Female dragons. _Ugh_.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Galbatorix had her hand tight in his grasp, making it impossible for her to wriggle away. Silently, Orca followed him as he went down staircase after staircase, descending into a damp, dark corridor. Unhappily, she tried to tug her fingers away, but found it impossible.

If only Anil were beside her. The shadows seemed darker, every rustle a soft, ominous threat. But Galbatorix had put Anil with Derek, saying that this was for her alone.

Anil? she called silently.

There wasn't an answer. Orca glanced around at the darkness, wanting more than anything his familiar warmth by her side. She wanted Anil back, to hear his playful voice in her ear, to be at her side no matter what. She _needed_ him, especially in this dark and dreamless place.

Ahead of her, Galbatorix spoke a soft word, something that made the air shiver and shake. Part of the wall seemed to melt away, and Orca's eyes widened as Galbatorix lit a light, illuminating the scene within.

The Second Woman—Rina—lay on the floor, chained to the wall, bleeding from a dozen cuts and bruises. The air was thick with decay, blood, sweat, and urine—as Galbatorix pulled her into the room, the stench settled about them like a shroud. Orca pulled uselessly at his iron grip, wanting _out_, wanting to go somewhere where she wouldn't have to see, to—

"So," Galbatorix's voice sounded above her, a hint of malice and cold amusement in his voice. "The last remnant of a little band of rebels. Interesting, isn't it, to see how they all fall?" Still clutching Orca's hand, Galbatorix leaned down and lifted Rina's chin, forcing her to look at him. "And so to meet a rebel's fate."

He lifted a hand, inhaling as to prepare himself to speak a spell. He paused halfway, turning slightly to look at Orca, his eyes darkly amused. The girl shuddered slightly at the expression on his face, the icy intent in his eyes.

"See, Orca," he whispered softly. "This is how it always ends."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Fire laced from his fingers, reaching down with deadly intent towards her. Rina convulsed, screaming, feeling the fire fork through every inch of her body—ripping, tearing, sending blood spraying in a macabre fountain across the floor.

Screaming—there was screaming everywhere, echoing across the walls, pounding itself into her ears. There was no end to it, no end to the pain, the cries, the sharp, blinding agony that tore itself through her body, ripping her mind, her _life—_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Orca!_ Anil screamed, throwing himself against the implacable wood of the door. He could _hear _her—not with his mind, which Galbatorix had blocked—but by some undefinable instinct that came of the bonds between them. Orca was screaming somewhere, fear, horror, shock; all those and more roiling through her to open her voice and destroy her control.

Anil screamed with her, slamming uselessly against the door, tearing the grain of the wood to shreds but not affecting the spell underneath. The door refused to yield—caging him, imprisoning him, locking away from Orca just when she needed him the most.

There seemed to be no end to the agony.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**Lame ending. :P But I'm in a hurry. Gonna catch a plane(s) and get awaay. Freeee! Bye byes, and review!**


	26. TwoFace

_10/23/101_

_Late Morning_

Thorn paced back and forth, twitching with boredom. The conversation between Eragon and Saphira provided no source of entertainment, as both of them didn't talk to him—they only raised their heads every once in a while to give him these calculating looks before ducking right back down to their conversation.

_Murtagh?_ he said.

_I'm here_. There was a small sigh. _What is it, Thorn?_

The red dragon huffed, accidentally snorting out a sharp jet of fire, which drew dozens of nervous looks. _Where are you?_ Thorn asked, studiously ignoring them.

_Back in my rooms,_ Murtagh said. _The elf—Inari—gave me a book to read. _

_Oh?_

_Yes,_ Murtagh said, but he sounded uneasy.

_What, is it that bad?_ Thorn asked, puzzled by the uncertain tone of Murtagh's voice. _Saucy? Bawdy? _

_No, it's not the book,_ Murtagh said, and Thorn could hear the exasperation in his voice. _Just..._

_It doesn't feel right to be relaxing, does it? _Thorn said knowledgably. _Under Galbatorix, there's always something to do—fighting, training, taking care of the brat and his pet Rider...speaking of which, I wonder how they're doing?_

He could almost see Murtagh shaking his head, with his knees drawn up to his chest and resting his head against the wall. Thorn's eyes narrowed when Murtagh didn't reply. _Do they know about her?_ the dragon asked softly.

_They know there is a third Rider, yes,_ Murtagh answered._ And that her name is Orca. But they don't know who she is. Or the fact that she's just five years old. _

_Yes, that might be a bit of problem,_ Thorn said ruefully. _That and the fact she doesn't talk. _He paused, his curiosity piqued. _Why are you so concerned, though? You've never liked Orca that much. Or Anil, for that matter._

There was another pause, and Thorn sighed mentally. _Don't tell me you've turned into a mother hen, Murtagh. Missing your foster daughter of sorts?_

_She's not my foster daughter_, Murtagh said, more vehemently than he really needed to be. _I just—_there was a hesitation, then Murtagh said, _It's a long story_.

_So tell me. I have time. _Thorn cast an appraising eye over Eragon and Saphira, then groaned. _Lots of time. Eragon Shadeslayer is having a _very_ long talk with his precious she-dragon_.

_She-dragon?_ There was a definite tone of amusement in Murtagh's voice. _Not dignifying her with a name anymore?_

_What name?_ Thorn sniffed. _Now stop changing the subject. You're bored, I'm bored; let's entertain each other. What's wrong?_

XXXXXXXXX

Murtagh stared blankly at the length of the wall, his thoughts a turmoil in his head. What _was_ wrong, really? It wasn't Orca—all right, maybe he was a bit worried about how she was doing, but that wasn't the large of it. The main point was—

He didn't _feel_ like Murtagh. He had all his memories back, true. He could remember his life, about what he did before he became a Rider—Selena, Eragon, so on and so forth. But truly, none of that was _him_. The person from his memories was some other person entirely—who was he now?

_But earlier on, you sided with the Varden,_ Thorn said, puzzled. _If you're not who you were, why would you do that?_

Murtagh laughed wearily, rubbing his temples with his palms. _Because that's what _he _would do, if he had to choose_. He spoke of his past self—the one before Galbatorix had tampered with his memory—as a distant figure, an acquaintance. But not him. _As for me, well..._

_They're up to something,_ Thorn said darkly. _It's not a good time to be indecisive, Murtagh._

_I _know_ that,_ Murtagh sighed. He blinked, and then the sentence fully registered in his mind. _What?_

_Saphira and Eragon_, Thorn snapped. _They keep on _looking_ at me in a way I don't like._

Murtagh laughed softly. _Don't go around biting their heads off. It would ruin any chances of staying alive here, especially with that odd murder earlier and all._

_Oh, the one with the stabbed elf and the shrieking about Galbatorix?_

_Right_, Murtagh said. _So no biting, snapping, or otherwise tearing Eragon's head off._

_It would be fun, though_, Thorn said wistfully.

_Only for a few moments. _Murtagh grined involuntarily, but the smile soon faltered as his thoughts returned to more serious subjects. _Thorn?_

_Mmm?_

_So whose side are we on? You knew me—well, me as who I was before...it happened. Who was I loyal to? _

_You have the memories, don't you?_ Thorn asked.

Murtagh groaned, shaking his head. _But they're not _mine. _I feel like I'm living someone else's life now, speaking their lines and playing their role. _He trailed off. _Well? _he asked, waiting.

_I don't know, _Thorn groaned. _Personally, if I had the choice, I'd nip off to somewhere nice and secluded and wait it out until Galbatorix and the Varden finished smashing each other to bits. As for you? You—well, I can't narrow it down to just 'Varden' or 'Empire', because you were somewhat of a rogue. You loved the rush of power from the void, and of learning those dark spells that the elves forbade years ago. But you also had some loyalty to the Varden—Eragon, he's your brother, you know, and all that. _And _you let him go at the Burning Plains for some reason. So I don't know. You had ties to both._

Murtagh was silent for a long, long moment. _I'm still in shock over that one_, Murtagh admitted quietly.

_What—the Burning Plains thing?_

_No, the fact that we're related_, Murtagh said ruefully. _It _is_ true, isn't it?_

_Yes._

_Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales_, Murtagh said musingly. _Varden through and through._

_Well, you haven't killed a Shade, but I could be Brightscales too,_ Thorn said brightly. _My scales will blind you on a good day; they're that shiny._

_Thorn Shinyscales? _Murtagh said wryly.

_Doesn't have quite the same ring, does it._ A small grunt came from Thorn's end, and then the dragon heaved an annoyed sigh. Murtagh raised an eyebrow as he felt Thorn get reluctantly to his feet. _I should go,_ the dragon said at last. _They've finished talking, and Nasuada's coming._

_All right then_, Murtagh said softly.

_Read your book. I'll be right back_, Thorn said, closing the connection.

**XXXXXXXX**

Her voice was gone, but she was still screaming—wordlessly, soundlessly where no one could hear. Tears ran unchecked down her face as the guards deposited her unceremoniously in Derek's quarters. Anil whimpered and nosed her, his tail drooping unhappily. _Orca? Orca, talk to me, please?_

Orca pulled away from his touch, curling into a tight ball. Anil whimpered again, softly, and then pleaded again, _Orca?_

The girl raised her head to look at him, and he at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen with tears, and bits of dried blood and gore stained her hands and face and clothes. Anil inched closer, and she put her arms around him, resting her head at the hollow of his neck.

We have to leave.

This thought was muddy in communication but clear in resolve. Anil jerked back, looking at her anxiously. The girl looked back at him, wiping her nose unhygenically on her sleeve but nodding determinedly. _What?_ Anil said. _Where will we go?!_

Anywhere. Everywhere. I won't stay here, Anil.

_But—_

I want Llynis, Orca whispered, tears brimming in her eyes again. I want Mommy. I want Aunt Llynis. And I hate him! I hate that—that man—

Images and thoughts spilled from her mind to Anil's, and the dragon recoiled at the violence of them. In them, the Man quite literally tore the Second Woman's guts from her body, and blood spattered over every exposed surface. The Man was laughing at the Woman's agony, as she struggled to put her intestines back where they were, and all the time—

Anil pulled his mind away, suddenly shivering. Orca stared at him, and he nodded slowly. _But how?_ he asked.

The girl sniffed wetly and raked her dirty brown hair away from her face. We have to run away, she said stubbornly.

Anil shook his head. _But the Man will catch us if we just go, _he said pragmatically. _We won't go very far without a plan_.

Orca shook her head. She stared at Anil for a moment, then added, We'll go find Murtagh. How about that?

Anil, a bit more sensible than his Rider despite the fact that he was more than four years younger than she was, looked doubtful. _I don't know about that._

Can you carry me?

_I've never tried_, Anil said hesitantly. The month-old dragon stood slowly, standing nearly a foot taller than Orca. _Let's see._

He bent down, and Orca clasped her hands around his neck, wincing slightly as his scales cut her skin. Gingerly, she began to climb onto his back, then stopped. Hurts, she said briefly. Your scales are scratchy.

Anil dragged a blanket off of Derek's bed with his teeth. Orca took the blanket carefully in her small hands and clumsily folded it, laying it on Anil's back. She tried again, this time achieving a precarious perch on Anil's back. Can you fly? she asked.

Anil limbered his wings. _I don't think I should fly in here_, he said. _I might break some of Derek's things_.

Orca glared at him—Anil's head was turned away from her, but he caught it anyway. With a sigh, the dragon clambered onto the bed and did a tentative jump off the edge, flapping his wings madly. Orca fell off.

_That didn't work_, Anil said, stating the obvious.

Orca got up obstinately, her fists clenched. We're going to do this, Anil, she told him silently.

Anil looked at her for a long moment, then pressed closer to her, rubbing his head along her shoulder. _I know_, he said.

_And I wouldn't have it any other way_, he added, shuddering at the shared memory of the Man's brutal killing.

XXXXXXXXXX

Galbatorix was scrying, idly trying out images of the Varden's elite. The Riders themselves were protected, but foolishly, they'd left the key figures of the resistance vulnerable to scrying. He snorted inwardly, shaking his head. Negligence, that's what it was.

He flicked to an image of the erstwhile leader of the Varden, Nasuada. He'd seen her just once before as a baby, when he'd met her interesting father, Ajihad. But that was ancient history. At any rate, it was enough to scry her. She was deep in conversation with somebody that he couldn't see, chattering away without a care in the world. Galbatorix adjusted the spell to hear her voice— "...when do you set out?"

There was a pause.

"Oh." Nasuada seemed to consider it, then nodded. "The elves are still working on that. I believe Arya has gone to question him now—what? Are you sure—" In the scrying glass, Nasuada looked around wildly, clearly puzzled. She looked down, then at whoever she was speaking to, and abruptly vanished.

Galbatorix sat back, piqued. Evidently her conversation partner sensed his presence and had protected her from his scrying. He sat back, thinking for a long moment. Now that he couldn't see the Varden leader...what about this Arya? No, but he'd never seen her personally, so he couldn't scry her. Pity.

He shrugged, still basically optimistic at heart. Instinctively, he reached out with his mind to find his newest Rider and her pet dragon—they were both in her guardian's rooms, buzzing with thoughts of flight. Orca seemed to be well-recovered from her shock earlier, when he'd shown her the price of disobeying the Empire. Maybe she had the stomach to be his Rider after all.

Galbatorix smiled, amused despite himself. At any rate, they'd have a while to wait for flight: Anil was barely a month old; it took almost four before his own dragon could carry him—

He pulled himself away from those thoughts, breathing hard. No. He had Shruikan now, and that was enough. He would not think about his original dragon, the one he'd lost…no.

To soothe himself, he turned back to scrying. As a challenge, he tried to scry Ellesmera, and amused himself with trying to poke holes in the anti-scrying defenses. They were well-built and impenetratable, as he knew from experience, but still. It was fun, in a way, and challenging.

And it's not like he had anything else urgent to do—everything was going along according to plan.

**XXXXXX**

Murtagh read the book, not because it was very interesting, but because it beat sitting around and doing nothing. It turned out to be a fairy tale of sorts, but the kind where the dragon ate the hero.

_I suppose this is an elf's sense of humor_, he thought dryly to himself, leaning back against the bedstead with a musing sigh. He reached out for Thorn briefly and caught a sort of 'busy, come back later' signal. Deciding not to bother his dragon, he turned back to the book, almost missing the quiet knock on the door.

He stared at the door and the blank expanse where a doorknob would've been if he had one. "Come in," he said at last. "Although I don't think my permission will matter very much."

The door opened smoothly, revealing two elves waiting at the other side. "Murtagh," Arya said, striding confidently into the room. Trailing behind her like a lost duckling was Inari, her hands folded chastely in front of her. "Have you found your accommodations adequate?"

Murtagh looked around his luxurious quarters—beautifully furnished, and perfect in every way except that the door lacked a doorknob and was impossible to open from the inside. "Yes," he said after a moment.

"Good," Arya said briskly. "Lady Nasuada asked you earlier as to your allegiance, and you have shown it to favor the Varden. As such, we will need to know a few vital things—"

"To, ah, _prove_ my loyalty?" Murtagh said, raising an eyebrow. "About the defenses of the Empire? The state of the army? Oh, and let's not forget—the third Rider?"

"An admirable summary," Arya said, giving him a curt nod.

Murtagh looked back down at the pages of his book for a long moment. "And if I cannot?"

Arya looked at him sharply. "Do you have reason to refuse?"

Murtagh smiled humorlessly. "Yes," he said simply.

Arya studied him for a moment. "How about this," she said at last. "We will agree to exchange questions with you. If you answer three questions of ours, we will answer three of yours. The ancient language will forbid us to lie, so you may be assured of our honesty. Have we an agreement?"

Murtagh hesitated, taken aback at the unusual offer. His mind raced, trying to cover any loopholes or complications with the agreement, and almost immediately found one. "There are some things I am…forbidden…to speak of," he said at last. "By—"

"The power of your true name," Arya said quietly.

Murtagh's chin jerked up at the tone of her voice, and a sudden chill ran down his spine as he remembered that elves were just as capable of finding out true names as Galbatorix was. Certainly, there were spells to safeguard against such revelation, but without his magic...he clenched his teeth and met her gaze squarely, missing the warm glow of his magic more than ever. Maddening as the voices were, being without protection in the company of two prestigious elfin spellcasters made him all the more aware of its loss.

"Yes," he said at last, keeping his face flat and smooth to match hers. "There is that. Also the retribution that Galbatorix metes out can be…"

He trailed off, memories rushing through his head. It was difficult to match the torturer of his dreams with the refined emperor that he had served, but the pain—the agony—of them was clear enough.

"We understand," Arya said smoothly. "But there are things we must know. And we will protect you from Galbatorix's wrath, should it come to that."

She spoke all this in the common dialect of the region instead of the ancient language, her expression giving nothing away. Murtagh eyed her for a moment, and then turned his gaze to the elf behind her—Inari. The other elf looked visibly uneasy, and looked away when he stared at her intently.

Murtagh tried to reach out, brush their minds to know what they were feeling, but found it impossible. The trickle of power available to him only allowed him to speak to Thorn. No one else. He would have to rely on other clues, instead. "Very well," he said after a long pause. He might have to speak the truth, but that didn't mean he had to reveal everything. He suspected the elves would do the same—it was only natural.

"You spoke the name of the third Rider previously—Orca, I believe. Where does her allegiance lie? How skilled is she in the matter of the art of magic?"

"That's two questions," Murtagh pointed out.

Arya paused. "Yes. But the more lenient you are in answering ours, the more giving we will be in answering yours."

"That wasn't part of the agreement," Murtagh said coolly.

Arya paused. "Then answer the second question."

"You don't wish to know about her allegiance?" Murtagh said, raising an eyebrow.

"Shall I count that as one of _your_ questions?" Arya fired back.

Murtagh felt the corners of his mouth twitch, and he saw Inari duck her head to hide a smile behind her hair. "All right," he said. "Maybe I deserved that. As for Orca's skills—" he hesitated, running through his memory. His recollections of Orca were clear and felt like a distinct part of him, unlike his more shadowy past. "She was rather lacking in that area," Murtagh said at last in the ancient language. "No, not very skilled at all."

He tilted his head, thinking hard. She'd never spoken during their lessons in the ancient language; Anil had absorbed the language like water into a sponge, but if Orca herself had learned anything, it was only by association. Murtagh looked down at the open book in his lap and found himself smiling reminiscently at Galbatorix's mild exasperation over the fact she never spoke, and never displayed the least sign of magical skill.

_I can wait_, he'd told Murtagh. _Magic takes its time, and we might as well ground her in the basics of nonmagical pursuits first. In the meantime, try to get her to speak, will you? I know she's not mute—at least, I don't think so_.

Arya raised an eyebrow and seemed to be mulling his answer over. "Galbatorix allowed his second Rider to be so negligent in her education? And don't answer that—it's called thinking out loud, Rider."

Murtagh glanced at her briefly and then away, feeling oddly uncomfortable. His memories—the part that really felt like _his_—showed Galbatorix as kind, benevolent, if a bit short on patience. But surely the rest of his life couldn't have been wrong…? But if so, how could the emperor have maintained a façade for so _long, _so—well? Could anyone be that good of an actor?

A rustle of cloth brought him out of his uneasy thoughts, and he glanced briefly at Inari, who bit her lip as his gaze met hers. She seemed more human, more emotional than other elves—certainly more so than Arya, at any rate. But then again, certain rocks had more emotion than Arya.

"All right. Now ask your question, Murtagh," Arya directed, her voice cutting into his thoughts.

Murtagh inhaled deeply, then smiled to himself. His question was quick and succinct, and unlike Arya's, covered just about everything he wanted to know. "Why am I here?" he asked directly.

Arya exchanged a glance with Inari, and the two seemed to engage in telepathic communication of some sort. It was Inari who finally answered, holding her hands out placatingly. "Divide and conquer, Murtagh. We sought to separate you from Galbatorix, as that would make the empire less of a threat. Also, Eragon Shadeslayer indicated you had..." she hesitated, then completed artfully, "—conflicted loyalties. In addition, you are—or were—Galbatorix's right-hand man. You would know things."

Murtagh digested this. "So you wanted me here just to reduce the threat of Galbatorix, and to tell you what I know."

Inari nodded.

"That's not the whole truth, is it?" Murtagh asked softly, meeting Arya's gaze steadily.

"It is true. Are you ready for the second question?" Arya asked.

He paused. "No. But do I have a choice?"

Arya looked at him implacably. "Your magic," she said at last. "The elves have long since forgotten the dark magic that Galbatorix uncovered, and we do not believe it is a result of natural growth. The question is: how did you acquire the source, the energy of such power?"

XXXXXXXX

The Rider's face almost quite literally closed down, any expression wiped away. Inari watched with interest as he closed the book on his lap carefully, setting it down by his side. "What makes you think it is unnatural?" he said quite casually. "Dragons have formidable resources of energy, and I have trained well."

"Eragon spoke of voices in your head when he tried to awaken you from your unnatural sleep," Arya said. She touched Inari's mind—_It is as we suspected, Inari-elda_, the elfin princess said, her voice carrying a hint of triumph.

Inari blinked. _But to destroy the sacrifice_...

_That is your responsibility. Play your part well, Inari-elda. _

Murtagh tilted his head, studying Arya, his eyes dark and blank. "Voices in my head could just mean that I'm schizophrenic."

"Let us be frank," Arya said very calmly. "It is possible to draw energy from other living beings; any advanced spellcaster knows that. But only ancient texts—now in Galbatorix's possession—tell how to draw it from the _dead_. A limitless fountain of power, capable of...almost anything, if not blocked away. You know something about this, don't you, Murtagh?"

"Why ask me, if you already know?" the Rider retorted.

"Yes or no? You may count that as my final question, if you like. But answer honestly."

Inari's eyes flicked from Murtagh to Arya and back, trying her best to appear visibly nervous. _Play your part well_. She could do that. Maybe. And now to add fuel to the fire... "Arya Svit-Kona, maybe this isn't the best time—" she began, letting anxiety show on her face.

"Quiet, Inari-elda," Arya said commandingly, and Inari shut up. "Well, Rider?"

Murtagh's gaze rested on Inari calculatingly. The elf tried throwing a coy look at him from under her eyelashes, something she'd picked up from seeing the humans of Surda flirt. If it worked on him, he didn't show it; his expression was as impassive as ever. "Yes," he said at last. "I do."

"Thank you," Arya said quietly. "That is all we needed to know."

"It won't do you any good," Murtagh said, his voice harsh.

Arya smiled lightly, almost poisonously. "That is for us to judge," the elf said. "And you may ask _your_ questions now, if you so desire."

"What do you plan to do with this knowledge?" Murtagh fired back almost immediately, looking furious.

"To acquire power," Arya said smoothly in the ancient language, her voice carrying a faint taunt. "That is a true answer." _A_ true answer, yes, but there were dozens of those lying around.

_You are angering him on purpose, Arya Svit-Kona? _Inari asked, slightly impressed. Though magic-less, baiting a Rider was never a good idea in her experience.

_He may let something slip, Inari-elda. Emotion is always a useful ally._

To their disappointment, Murtagh seemed to regain control of himself, inclining his head in acknowledgement of a point scored. "All right then. I'll save my last question, if you don't mind."

"If that is what you so desire," Arya replied. _Inari-elda, see what you can do_. "I will take my leave, then."

The elfin princess turned, whispering a few words to the magically locked door. It swung open in response, and Arya walked out.

**XXXXXXXXX**

Six more practice runs later left them with a ruined blanket, multiple destroyed items, and—this was a good thing—the ability to stay on. Orca clung doggedly to Anil's neck as the dragon wearily climbed back onto the bed, limbering his wings.

_One more try,_ the green dragon said.

He jumped off the bed and took an ungainly flight that was cut short by the fact he crashed into the opening door. The two landed into an undignified heap; overhead, they heard a furious yell as Derek discovered that most of his things were broken. "What?!" their erstwhile guardian shrieked, dropping the bundle of food he carried. "_I come back to bring you lunch, but in the meantime you've been shattering my things?!"_

Grab the lunch he's carrying! Orca directed.

_What, we're leaving now?_ Anil said, startled.

Derek advanced onto them, his face red. Anil blinked, then said, _Okay, let's go_. Jumping up, he knocked the human over, snapping his jaws an inch from Derek's face to warn him to _stay down_. Orca scooped up the food in clumsy hands. The two of them pelted down the hall.

Their escape was helped by the fact that they were spelled with a 'forget' magic. Anyone who saw them automatically erased them from memory. Most of the time, it was annoying, but Anil welcomed it now—any amount of crashing or banging went unnoticed; behind them, servants began to blame each other for broken things.

They made it down to the first floor without much trouble. Anil ducked behind a beaming cherub statue in the garden, panting slightly. _I haven't seen the Man_, he said, referring to Galbatorix. _Where do you suppose he is?_

Orca shrugged. As long as he's not here, I don't care. Let's go.

She unwrapped the food and spread the blanket across Anil's back, hugging the food tightly to herself. It wasn't much—a wedge of cheese, a few celery sticks, a length of dried meat for Anil—but it was food.

The dragon waited until she was properly seated, and then tested out his wings. Under a full-grown human, he'd never be able to make it. But as it was—and Orca was helpfully small for her age—he managed to take a meandering, circling flight away from the palace.

XXXXXXXX

Galbatorix looked up, registering the quiet knock on the door. He yawned, stretching luxuriously—in his quest to penetrate Ellesmera's defenses, he'd gone stiff.

Setting aside his scrying glass, he ambled over to the door and pulled it open. An impassive guard moved aside to reveal a wild-eyed servant—Derek, Orca's guardian. "Yes?" Galbatorix said politely, watching with distaste as the man began to weep. "What is it, servant?"

"Your majesty—" the servant choked out. "They—they—" He broke off, dropping to his knees. "Your majesty, please, mercy—"

A chill of foreboding shot down Galbatorix's spine. He didn't waste time waiting for Derek to choke out his story—Galbatorix grabbed him by the collar and plunged into his mind, ransacking it for the memory that had the servant so troubled. Derek shuddered, then began to scream as Galbatorix saw the details of Orca's escape.

Galbatorix's mind flashed back to his search earlier—flight. Orca and Anil had been thinking of _flight_. How stupid could he get? He'd passed it up as a child's fantasy, eager to soar with her dragon, but all the time it meant—

He glanced at the sunlight streaming in from a window farther down the hall. It was early afternoon, perhaps, and he could tell that Derek had been searching wildly for at least a couple of hours. The rage in his stomach settled at this thought, turning into ice—cold resolve, harsh determination. A child. Rider, perhaps, but still a child, alone and unskilled. How far could she get?

He killed Derek without a second glance and strode down the hall, reaching out in his mind for Shruikan.

**XXXXX**

**Hoooo boy. I haven't updated this in ages—like, a year maybe. And I thought I could just let it be, but a craving to write **_**something**_** about Murtagh (grown-up, not a little kid) led to me rereading the beginning chapters, and then typing this out... Groveling, painful apologies to everyone. -sighs-**

**At any rate, I don't have a plot, because I lost my old one somewhere along the lines of the past year. Should I keep going, since **_**Brisingr**_**'s coming out soon? Reviews, suggestions, are all very welcome.**


	27. Forces of Attraction

_10/23/101_

_Mid-afternoon_

Inari walked the grounds with Murtagh by her side, trying desperately to think of something to say. She was supposed to be flirting, gaining his confidence—a sort of Good Cop to everybody else's Bad Cop. But she'd never had a lover or, to use the Surdan term, _boyfriend_, preferring to occupy herself with her studies. So what on earth was she supposed to say?

Murtagh offered no help. The Red Rider seemed perfectly content to be moody and silent, darkly imposing even when dressed in a light sandy tunic and breeches. He seemed not to notice the suspicious glares that everyone gave him, strolling away as carelessly as if he were in the palace at Uru'baen.

_Morzansson_. Inari shook her head.

"So, Rider," she began, then stopped. It was a promising start, but nothing seemed to follow it. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Rider—"

"I do have a name, you know," he said, looking off to the right, his tone deceptively mild.

Inari coughed. "I apologize. Murtagh." She sought for something else to say, then came up with, "Did you enjoy the book?"

"I've only gotten through half of it," Murtagh said, sounding distant, "but yes. It was quite enjoyable."

The conversation stopped there. Inari swallowed, trying to figure out something else to say, feeling stupid. She hated this; hated this labyrinth of deception and lies and playing nice to sons of traitors. How she _longed_ to be back in Ellesmera, where she could immerse herself in pure study for days on end. But it was her study that her gotten her 'recruited' by Islanzadi for this particular excursion—her specialty, her expertise.

She almost cried with relief when Nasuada-sana appeared at the end of the hall, looking flushed and sweaty. Eragon Shadeslayer was right behind her, his eyes narrowed as he whispered hurriedly into her ear. A servant came right in after them, leaning over to polish the wooden window shutters. The two leaders ignored him, hurrying to where Inari and Murtagh stood.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin," Inari began, but Eragon brushed it aside. She raised an eyebrow, offended. "Very well: what, then?"

"I'll just step over to this wall until you call me, then," Murtagh said, but Eragon shook his head, waving him forward. The Red Rider looked mildly surprised, but nodded, stepping closer.

"We've just received word from the palace," Nasuada said, looking Murtagh directly in the eye. "Galbatorix has left the grounds. On _Shruikan_."

Observing Murtagh with interest, Inari noted that his expression didn't change, but his face did grow slightly paler. "Your king knows you are here," she noted coolly. "He will have left to find you, no doubt."

"I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner," Nasuada murmured. "We can assume that this is not war, for the Empire's troops are not on the move. But for him to leave the sanctuary of the palace…"

"How long ago was this?" Murtagh asked after a moment. "When did your...informants...give you this information?"

"Not ten minutes ago, as the sand flows," Nasuada announced. She frowned, considering. "I was scryed earlier by an unknown presence earlier; Eragon shielded me. Perhaps that was Galbatorix."

"It would take me perhaps five days to fly from Uru'baen to Surda," Eragon added. "Say four for Galbatorix, as he has much more experience and Shruikan is so much larger. So we do have some time to prepare."

It was hard to tell what Murtagh was thinking; he gazed off into the distance as if mildly bored by all of this. Eragon and Nasuada continued talking about contingency plans, but Inari left the flow of the conversation, watching him intently. He stared out at the window for a long moment, then turned his gaze onto her, scrutinizing her intently.

Inari did her best to match him, but could feel her knees trembling with the effort. This was a warrior. A _killer_. She was a scholar, more suited to grappling with ancient texts than going eye-to-eye with a traitor. Arya's words aside, she would not trust him. After all, she had trusted his father, and look what _that_ had gotten her.

He seemed to guess her thoughts, smiling ironically. Inari felt her chin stick up at the insolent gesture, his mockery strengthening her muscles. "What?" she asked defiantly. To hell with being nice; Arya could find someone else to do the dirty work. "Problem, Rider?"

"My dear brother and the rebel leader seem to be busy," he said, and Inari could feel her hackles rising at the blatant taunt in his voice. Before she could form a reply, though, he added, "No need to get indignant. I just thought you'd like to know something."

Inari remained silent and defiant. Murtagh sighed, rubbing his face with his hands, suddenly looking surprisingly human. "Well, I don't know what much good it'd do you. But Galbatorix isn't coming after me. I'd thought you'd like to know that."

Inari blinked. She'd been expecting some sort of sarcastic remark about elves, not advice. "What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

"If Galbatorix wanted to come and—" he smiled, faintly self-mocking—"_rescue_ me, he would've done it ages ago, believe me. He could have intercepted me anytime between the palace and Surda. I don't know why I'm still here and not halfway back to the palace, but if I am, the only reason is that Galbatorix has some sort of Mysterious Plan and wants me here." He shrugged. "So whyever he's out, it's not because of me."

"He could simply have been preparing," Inari challenged.

"So long? So ineffectually? It's all very well to be—ah—_strong_, but still. He won't waste time doing things that he could order other people to do."

"You are not loyal to him?" Inari asked, piqued. "Your father was."

"I'm not Morzan." And he turned away slightly, clearly indicating that to him, the conversation was over. Inari watched him through narrowed eyes, but didn't pursue the subject.

"Shadeslayer? Nasuada-sana?"

The two of them broke off in their conversation, and quickly, Inari related what Murtagh had told her. Nasuada-sana looked dubiously from Murtagh to Inari and back. "While we appreciate the revelations, we have to be aware that your perceptions may not be entirely...accurate," Nasuada-sana said tactfully. "Or truthful, for that matter."

"You don't have to believe me if you don't want to," Murtagh said quietly. "But the consequences are yours to bear."

Nasuada eyed him for a long moment, her lips tightening. "Excuse us, Rider?"

He shrugged and stepped away, moving out of earshot. Nasuada lowered her voice, stepping close to Inari. "Inari, I know you are not technically under my command. But you lead the contingent of other elven spellcasters, correct?"

Inari nodded slowly. "Yes." She did not add that the position was in fact just in name; Arya Svit-Kona was the one who did the real heavy lifting. "We are here to offer assistance, Nasuada-sana."

Nasuada winced at the sound of the extra elfin modifier and then shrugged, dismissing it. "All right. If possible, I would like to ask one of you to act as a scout, to report on Galbatorix's movements. See if he really is heading for Surda."

"Why not ask one of your human spies to do it?" Inari asked.

"They're too slow," Eragon said. "An elf horse is faster and more nimble, and elves can conceal themselves more easily than a human, even one gifted with magic. Plus, elves are more versed in secrecy when it comes to sending messages, and so on." Nasuada shot him a look, and he shrugged an apology. "Forgive me, my liege," he said, "but Inari-elda should know." He gave Inari a little bow, which she returned.

Nasuada shrugged and acquiesced. "Our intelligence system is not quite equipped to deal with this," she admitted reluctantly. "We have spies to tell us when Galbatorix is on the move, but as for actually _tracking_ his movements, that's another thing altogether, as he has made himself impossible to scry and it's difficult for a human to follow a dragon's movements from the ground. Elves should be able to keep up better."

Inari saw her chance and took it. "Of course, Nasuada-sana," she said, promising rashly, "In fact, I'll do it myself."

Nasuada frowned, taken aback. "But surely you have other things to occupy your time as the leader of the—"

Inari shook her head, far too quick and abrupt for good elvish etiquette. But if it was a choice between reconnaissance and _flirting_, well, she'd choose the former any day. "I wish to ensure personally that you receive the best reports possible," she said firmly.

Nasuada glanced at Eragon, whose mouth twitched slightly with amusement. But he wiped it away, nodding gravely at Inari. "Then we thank you for your assistance, Inari-elda," the Shadeslayer said with another little bow. Inari returned it, feeling light-headed at the promise of release from her unpleasant duty of babysitting Murtagh.

And now all she had to do was to tell Arya.

**XXXXXXX**

Anil flared his wings and crashed inelegantly into a tree, Orca hanging on for dear life. Branches snapped and leaves flew; finally, Anil slid to the ground with a heavy _thump_, looking rather disgruntled at his crash landing.

_I'm tired_, he said in response to Orca's unspoken query. _I've been flying for ages now—get off!_

Not ages, Orca thought with a oxymoronically childlike dignity as she extracted herself from a mess of twigs and leaves. Maybe a few hours. She brightened up. Let's eat!

Anil shook himself as Orca pulled the ragged remnants of the blanket off of him, letting the food tumble onto the ground—a sticky wedge of cheese, wilted celery sticks, and dried meat. Anil sniffed it unenthusiastically, shaking his head. He glanced at Orca, who sighed.

_I can eat stuff like that in one bite_, he said, miffed.

Orca shrugged. I don't know. It's what Derek brought. I'll eat it, if you won't.

Anil looked calculatingly around them. They were in a patch of forest, with the playful gurgle of water within hearing distance. It was a sunny day, bright and inviting. Nice, disarming weather. His stomach gurgled, and he sighed.

_I want to go hunt, Orca,_ he said pleadingly. _I'll be right back. I'll just catch some rabbits and eat them. Very fast. _

Orca looked at him—he wriggled on the ground, thumping it with his forepaws not unlike a puppy. _Please?_ he added, asking permission of his Rider.

Okay, okay. But don't go too far, all right? Orca looked around uneasily. I don't know where we are. I think we're lost, Anil.

_I know,_ Anil said, cheerful now at the prospect of a good meal. _But I'll take care of that later. I'll be back, very fast. Wait for me!_

Rejuvenated, he flapped clumsily, taking flight.

XXXXX

Orca drew the tattered remnants of the blanket about her, chewing her celery sticks anxiously. Anil's optimism to the contrary—for he was nearly _always_ happy—the woods were frightening. And she was alone now.

The girl closed her eyes, resting her head on her scratched knees. Her mind drifted tiredly, connected to Anil by just the barest thread. She wanted him back at her side, but he was hungry and so had to leave. She wanted Aunt Llynis's arms around her, and Murtagh's comforting presence nearby. But neither of them were here.

A twig snapped. Orca looked up, her eyes widening. She bit her lip, staring around at the trees. They hadn't seemed nice in the first place, and now they were just downright scary. She tried to get to her feet, but found that her knees wouldn't move for some reason.

Wait. There it was, but from an entirely different direction. And again—and again—the sounds built up: twigs snapping, leaves rustling, all of them infinitely dangerous. Somebody was coming and she could hear them—hear, but not see, just enough to know that _someone was out there—_

She wouldn't go back to Galbatorix. Ever. _Ever_. Her fists clenched involuntarily, and she reached out for Anil. The dragon was preoccupied, busy gobbling down bits of rabbit, but she called him anyway, sharing her growing fear as her eyes flitted about the sunny, deceptively happy forest.

Anil—I think he's here, help me, stop him!

_I'll be right back, Orca. Hang on!_

Boots crunched on the grass behind her, and Orca spun around, clutching the blanket close to herself, fear and hysteria bubbling in her throat. Her newfound voice tightened, ready to scream, cry, whatever it took. But the cry froze, unformed, as she saw not a human, but an animal—a dog of some sort— regarding her with curious eyes.

Orca exhaled slowly, looking at it wide-eyed. It seemed unafraid, just amused, really, to see some lost human girl in the middle of its woods. Tentatively, she reached out a hand to pat it. It accepted the touch graciously, snuffling at her hair.

A shadow fell over the ground, and the dog growled and leapt back as Anil landed on the ground next to Orca, panting. The dragon looked at her, then at the dog. _Oh_, he said, sounding disgruntled.

Sorry, Orca thought apologetically. I thought it was the Man. Go back and eat your rabbits.

_I was done anyway_. Anil drew a protective wing around his Rider, staring balefully at the dog. It growled, showing teeth; the dragon hissed in response.

"Rascal!"

The dog whined and loped away as a man appeared in view—not Galbatorix, not anyone they'd ever seen before. He patted it on the head then looked quizzically at Anil and Orca, his eyes skimming over them in a way that was depressingly familiar. "Rascal?" he said, sounding confused as Rascal started to tug at his tunic. "What is it?"

_He can see us_, Anil whispered. _The dog can _see_ us!_

Orca stood up slowly, brushing off Anil's wing as the dragon started in surprise. Rascal bounded over to her, nearly bowling her over as he put his paws on her shoulder and enthusiastically licked her face. The dragon growled a little as Orca giggled, running shaky fingers through the dog's fur.

"Rascal?" The man stepped closer, staring in confusion at his dog, who was standing upright with his paws braced on a—_blur_ of some sort. "Er—what—"

Rascal barked, tail wagging.

The man peered nearsightedly at Orca, then at Anil, who lunged forward to put himself between the man and his Rider. "Oh," he said, sounding bemused as Anil pushed him back. "I'm sorry—when did you get here? I can't—"

He apparently lost track of the conversation, looking away. Orca knelt down, her fingers fondling the dog's ears, watching the stranger warily. What do you think is going on? she asked Anil silently.

_Oh, _now_ you're talking to me?_ the dragon said grumpily.

She turned slightly, grinning at him. Are you jealous, Anil? she asked.

Anil sniffed, not bothering to dignify this with a reply, watching the stranger sullenly. The man stared at him, then at Orca, then at his dog, who was now lying on his back and enjoying a good belly rub, his eyes half-closed in ecstasy. "Um," the man said, shaking his head. "Who are you, anyway?"

_Anil_, Anil said. The man jumped as Anil spoke to him, projecting his words into the stranger's mind. The dragon figured it wouldn't hurt; most people forgot they existed, anyway. _And you?_

"Ah—Tomas," the man said slowly, staring hard at Anil. "Are you a dragon?"

Before Anil could answer, Rascal barked, drawing his attention. Tomas looked at his dog, his eyes clearing as they focused on something that his mind accepted as real. "Hey, boy," he said, bending down and rubbing the dog's ears. "You lazy hound. Weren't we supposed to be hunting?"

His arm brushed Orca's head as he straightened, and Tomas froze, staring fixedly down at Orca. The girl looked back at him, her lower lip sticking out stubbornly.

"I see," Tomas said carefully. He hesitated. "A child, yes?"

Is he asking me a question? Orca wondered to Anil.

_Do we have to answer? _Anil returned.

"Orca," she said out loud, her voice quiet but clear, now freed from its silence by the Woman's death. She stared up at Tomas solemnly, dirty brown hair flopping over her eyes as Anil edged closer to her, growling jealously at Rascal. The man hesitated, looking down at her uncertainly.

"Orca," Tomas said slowly. "Well—"

He made as if to leave, his movements slightly jerky. Rascal whined insistently, clinging to Orca's lap. _Go away_, Anil said crossly, nosing the dog.

Stop it, Orca said. He's a nice dog.

_Not to me,_ the dragon scowled.

"Rascal, come _on_," the man directed. "It's time to go—we can't stay here forever—"

Rascal barked, refusing to move.

"Oh—_you_," Tomas said, exasperation lining his voice. "Look—whoever you are—I guess you should—I don't know. I don't even know if you're—you _are_ there, right? but at any rate, I suppose you'd better come with me. Rascal's a good judge of character, and it's not like I have anything worth stealing anyway. Besides," he added, as he hesitantly helped Orca up, "I need my dog back, and he's besotted with you now."

Orca swayed, clinging to Anil for balance. The dragon leaned against her protectively, glaring at Rascal as the dog bounded to Tomas's side, yapping ecstatically. _Orca, this is a bad idea,_ Anil said. _We should go elsewhere_.

Where? Orca asked simply.

Anil hesitated. _I don't know! But not here. He could be anybody! And that dog—_

I don't like these woods, Anil, Orca confided softly. They're scary. And the stranger—Tomas—he's like Murtagh, I think. We'll be safe.

_No, we won't_, Anil said exasperatedly, but Orca wasn't listening. Rascal loped over, sniffing her fingers enthusiastically as she followed them through the woods. Resigned, Anil followed.

**XXXX**

Mattes watched furtively as he wiped the shutters with a cloth, straining to catch any hint of conversation. It helped that none of them really noticed he was even there—just natural talent and the fact that he was a servant, of course. Using this to his advantage, he watched the Red Rider and the elf and Eragon Shadeslayer. But most of all, he watched Nasuada.

Gods, she was beautiful.

There was a long and heated conversation—it was difficult for Mattes to read lips accurately at such a distance, but he got the idea that they were worried about Galbatorix. Mattes ran this through his mind and shrugged inwardly—the emperor would inform him if he thought it was worth worrying the Black Hand about. This having been cleared, he was free to moon over Nasuada.

Maybe, when Surda was back under the empire's control, the emperor would give her to him instead of executing her. Mattes's hands stilled in their polishing as his mind started to conjure up fantasies—what he could do, what fun he could have...

The click of boots on tile brought him back to reality, and he resumed polishing, keeping his hands busy as his mind contined to daydream. Vaguely, he noticed that the hall was empty—the little meeting had broken up, with each person going back to their respective tasks.

Fire flared up in his shoulder, and he bit back a yelp. Again? It had barely been two days since his last summons—he bit his lip, suddenly regretting that he'd spent all that time thinking about Nasuada instead of gathering information. What if he'd missed something important?

Mattes set down the cloth and headed back to his quarters, trying to seem nonchalant. The emperor was not a very patient person and did not like to be kept waiting. Using his amazing magical powers, he managed to avoid two nobles who might have ordered him around by means of alternate routes, and soon was safely hidden away behind the locked door of his room. Breathing hard, Mattes quickly slit his wrist and performed the opening rite, wincing as the blood clouded the water. The emperor appeared, looking stormy and windswept.

"Your majesty," Mattes said, bowing his head.

"Black Hand," he returned curtly, his voice carrying an edge that Mattes had never heard before. "I have a task for you."

Mattes remained silent, waiting.

"I want you to kill that fool Orrin," he ordered, and Mattes's jaw dropped open before he could stop himself. He swallowed back his questions as the emperor continued, his voice cruel and very, very cold. "From what I understand, he is guarded at all times, not just physically but magically. That is why I have assigned a partner for you, another member of the Black Hand, to aid you. Take these spells I am giving to you, and use them at the first opportunity. Be stealthy, be wise, but _kill him_."

Black letters of fire appeared at Galbatorix's fingertips, blossoming into shape and floating to the top of the water, solid as metal, only far more buoyant. Mattes took the charms with trembling fingers, knowledge blossoming in his mind as he did so. Words for invisibility, for illusion, for mutilation and for death. Dark magic, far more serious than anything Mattes had ever used before.

The charms flared into life in his palms, vanishing into his skin like water into sand. Mattes stared at his hands for a moment, trembling slightly. Such power—such _power_—

"Do your job well, Black Hand," the emperor said with a razor-thin smile, staring up from the water as if he could read Mattes's mind, "and I will reward you with what you desire."

Unbidden, the image of Nasuada rose to Mattes's mind. He took a shaky breath, staring into the emperor's eyes. It was an unforgivable breach of etiquette, but the emperor didn't seem to mind. He smiled, cold and knowing. Flushed, Mattes looked away.

The water rippled and the image blurred, vanishing. Mattes blinked, then exhaled slowly, dazed. He gazed at his hands again, his newfound knowledge bouncing in his mind.

A tiny part of his mind wondered just why Galbatorix had entrusted so much power to him. He had sworn an oath in the ancient language to obey the emperor's orders, and thus would have to carry this one out, but still. He could still run away afterwards and put his new powers to good use—

But that part was shoved away by the vast majority that clamored about glory and riches and fame. He was faithful, and the emperor would reward him suitably. So he had to kill Orrin—no easy task, to be sure. But he would have help, and he had more magic that he'd ever had before. And once that was done, Nasuada would be _his_…

**XXXXX**

_End of Chapter 27_

**I don't like this chapter very much, especially the middle section with Orca and Anil. But I'm sick of rewriting this; it's version three and I've already scrapped quite a few pages. So um yeah. X.x**

**Alsdssg**: Lol, there –might- be something between Murtagh/Inari, but I'm rather hesitant to pair him up with an OC because I already did so in T&M, and look how that turned out. :P But then again, I have no plot, so anything can happen. And I mean _anything_. –evil cackle-

**Alowl**: You know, I think that's not a far stretch—the whole vanishing into the desert business, I mean. I mean, yeah, both Varden and empire are a bunch of bloody sods; I actually hate the Varden more. Probably because we haven't even SEEN Galbatorix in canon so far. X.x I'm already wincing in advance as far as Galbatorix is concerned; I sincerely hope he has some actual character depth in _Brisingr _instead of just laughing manically and crap. Meh.

**Canadian-Girl14**: Gosh, an ending? I haven't even thought that far. O.O Hey, how would you take it if Galbatorix ended up crushing the Varden instead of the other way around? XD That would be a unique ending, at least, if the bad guy wins.

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Yeah, I've read BoD. Not very comprehensively, but yeah. Nasuada gets pregnant with Murtagh's kid, doesn't she? It's been a while; during my hiatus, I didn't really pay attention to any fics. XP Conflicted Murtagh is fun to write. At least from HIS POV anyway, in this chap from Inari's, he just comes off as this total cold bastard, doesn't he? XD Just shows you gotta walk a mile in his shoes before you get to know the REAL HIM. –DUN DUN DUN-

**DarkHiems-hime**: Really? Just curious, but what –was- your interpretation of first contact? XD I'm terribly uncreative; I just came up with a logical bound and leap from like, 'souls whispering for release' yadda yadda to dead people. Blech. Oh, and Alagaesians don't know adrenaline? X.x Well…er…um…the elves discovered it? After all, they –are- all magical and powerful and crap. Surely they discovered the power of hormones? XD


	28. The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street

_10/23/101_

_Late Evening_

Mattes crouched in the shadows, his eyes fixed on the expansive door that led to Orrin's bedchambers, as well as the impassive guard that blocked the entrance. He felt strangely giddy, the dark energy running through his veins—it had been torture to wait until nightfall, for the cover of darkness. His traitorous thoughts kept conjuring up fantasies of his reward for when he succeeded, making it difficult for him to focus.

He exhaled deeply, trying to keep his breathing calm and steady. The emperor had promised him an ally, another member of the Black Hand. Mattes knew no other member of the Black Hand except the one who had recruited him; that was the nature of their organization, secrecy. Curiosity kept him glued to his corner, waiting for his mysterious ally.

"Guard!"

Mattes flinched, then pressed himself deeper into the shadows as a tall, imposing figure swept by, the fringes of his cloak brushing Mattes's head. Peering out cautiously, Mattes saw it was Jormundur, one of the Council of Elders who was loyal to Nasuada. The guard snapped to attention, listening intently as Jormundur leaned forward, saying something in a voice that was too low for Mattes to catch. Whatever it was, the guard stepped aside, allowing Jormundur to enter.

_Now_.

Mattes shook his head, startled as his hand rose of its own accord, humming with a black fire that was not his own. Fear replaced elation as he found himself reaching out, drawing out of the shadows. This attracted him the attention of the guard, who whipped around to stare at him incredulously. "Servant!" he barked, raising his sword.

An inexorable force gripped Mattes; try as he might, his body just wasn't his to control anymore. "Jierda!" he found himself yelling, and the guard gasped and collapsed, his neck obviously broken. And then Mattes's feet were running—his hands were pushing open the door—and he was staring at Jormundur, who regarded him with a curiously blank gaze.

The strange possession that gripped Mattes released him at this point, and his knees gave way. He dropped to the ground, gasping hard as he tried not to retch—the magic that seemed so alluring only moments before now seemed like a trap. What had he accepted? How could—how could any magic make you do things that you didn't—didn't _control_, how could it take over your body and—

A muffled yell of outrage made him look up. Wiping his mouth with his hand, Mattes pulled himself to his feet, regarding the man he was supposed to kill. Orrin was bound and gagged, his eyes livid with fury and fear. Mattes looked quizzically at Jormundur and then back to the Surdan king—both of them showed signs of having been in a fight. But—_Jormundur?_ Nasuada's loyal councilor, her second-in-command? How could such a man be a member of the Black Hand? Surely Mattes would've sensed it...

"Don't just stand there," Jormundur said suddenly, his expression never changing. He shoved a blade into Mattes's hands, gesturing at the bound king. "Do what the emperor commands."

Mattes blinked at the unfamiliarly acerbic accent of Jormundur's voice. Revelation hit in a flash—somebody was controlling the man, just as Mattes himself had been controlled not a few minutes ago. A shiver ran down Mattes's spine as he stared down at the dagger in his hands.

Jormundur wasn't a member of the Black Hand, he was sure of that now. But how, then, was he controlled? _Who_ was controlling him? The emperor couldn't have given Jormundur the same magic that he'd given Mattes, but who else had the power, the ability to take over Jormundur's mind—and so smoothly, at that?

A hard grip grabbed his shoulder, shaking him hard. "Do it," Jormundur commanded.

Mattes shook his head numbly, fear and doubt lancing through him. All thoughts of Nasuada, of reward, had fled his mind, leaving him with cold panic. He'd counted on a human ally, one who had his mind and body intact. But this kind of magic left him stranded—control? Possession? _How?_

"Why don't you do it?" he demanded through clenched teeth, trying vainly to push the blade back into Jormundur's hands. "Whoever you are! Why me?"

"You defy the will of the emperor?" Jormundur said, his voice a flat monotone.

Orrin produced another muffled yell; with shocking violence, Jormundur reached back and slapped the king full across the face. Mattes yelped involuntarily, staring incredulously at the reddened imprint. Jormundur remained perfectly calm and expressionless, even as he reached down, his hands wrapping around Mattes's wrist with an iron grip.

"Do it," he intoned.

Mattes wavered, biting his lip. Jormundur smiled slightly, the expression disjointed and unconnected, but no less frightening for it. "One stab, Mattes, is all it takes," he said, his voice so low that Mattes had to strain to hear. "And then your future would be assured, and you would be rewarded for your loyalty. You know what you want, don't you? Well, the emperor does too. And if you prove yourself to be loyal, then she will be yours."

The words were soft, hypnotic. Mattes swallowed hard, his thoughts drifting against his will. He wanted Nasuada, yes—but what would he do to get her?

"How do you know—"

"Last chance, Mattes," Jormundur said quietly.

Mattes wavered, biting his lip indecisively, fear and greed warring within him. Jormundur watched him impassively, his hands crossed over his chest, the strange intelligence that was controlling him giving nothing away.

One life for another. Besides, he was dead already if he didn't kill Orrin—the king would surely attest to his assassination attempt. But if he killed Orrin, then he could claim to have 'discovered' the body of the king, already murdered by someone else, and flee the city to await his reward...

Mattes chose, and brought the blade down.

XXXXX

Black fire exploded from his hands as the blade pierced the skin, arcing toward the bound king with hungry fingers, wrapping both of them in a cocoon of flame. Mattes cried out in horror as Orrin twisted, screaming in obvious agony as the fire consumed him. His fingers were still wrapped around the blade—Mattes fought to pry his fingers free, but the otherworldly flame gripped him as well, refused to let him go.

This wasn't what—this wasn't what he planned! "Help me!" he screamed up at Jormundur, who stood flat and impassive just a few paces away. Orrin continued to scream, a terrible, racking sound that hurt Mattes's ears, flailing and writhing against his ropes. "Help!" Mattes shrieked, no longer caring about anything but getting out, of getting free of this trap, of release—"Anybody—_help!_"

Orrin's screams drowned out his cry. Behind him, the door slammed open, people ran forward, chaos, panic, yelling. Mattes was yelling, too, struggling to pull himself free of the dying king, panic and terror overwhelming reason. The fire wasn't burning him, but he was scant inches away from the screaming Orrin, and he wanted _out—_

"_Letta!_" he screamed, putting all his force behind it, batting uselessly at the flames, not thinking about the cost, not thinking about anything but pulling free.

The spell activated, draining on his energy. The flames did not falter as his paltry energy tried to dampen it; rather, they seemed to welcome it, feeding off his power and burning ever brighter. Mattes cried out weakly as the spell continued to struggle against the dark magic, failed, _failed_, but kept on trying, feeding every ounce of his life into it. It was impossible to break free until the flames went out, but they didn't stop, and neither did the spell.

He gasped thinly, his knees buckling, dragging down Orrin with him. The king stared at him with bloodshot, accusing eyes, his mouth twisted in a wordless cry of pain. Mattes tried again, feebly, to break free, but failed, his vision flickering and dimming as he died.

XXXXXX

Murtagh woke up with a start, hearing footsteps pound away outside of his room. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, thoughts spinning wildly in his head. _Thorn?_ he asked after a moment, feeling the dragon press at his consciousness, _What is it?_

_Get up,_ the red dragon replied tersely. _Things are afoot_.

Murtagh sat up, pulling on a tunic as he did so. _What's going on?_ he asked his dragon silently, getting up and pacing to work off the remnants of sleep. _What happened?_

Thorn didn't reply for a few minutes; Murtagh waited, Thorn's nervousness seeping through their link. It was infectious, sending a light thread of adrenaline thrumming through him. _What's going on?_ he insisted.

_Nothing good_, Thorn said, sounding distracted. _Wait._

The door slammed open; Murtagh turned around, startled. Eragon stood in the doorway, breathing hard, the gedwey ignasia on his palm glowing with magic. "You were here the entire time?" Eragon demanded harshly. Arya stood framed in the doorway behind him, her expression undeceipherable.

"Of course," Murtagh said, puzzled. _Thorn? Now would be a very good time to tell me what's going on!_

Eragon gripped Murtagh's wrist. "Do you swear? Say it in the ancient language!"

"The door has not been opened," Arya said sharply from behind him. "He did not leave this room physically, at least."

"Jormundur was controlled by _somebody_," Eragon snapped at her. He turned back to Murtagh, his eyes darkening. "Was it you, Murtagh?"

"Was it me, what?" Murtagh said irritably, jerking free of Eragon's hold. "I've been asleep. What's going on, Eragon?"

Eragon paused, staring at Murtagh for a long moment. Arya closed the door behind her as she stepped all the way into the room, the latch clicking shut with a certain finality. "Then who could it be?" she mused quietly. "One of the two has committed suicide, and Jormundur might as well be dead—his mind will certainly never recover, at any rate. Who has the power to do such a complete possession, besides Galbatorix himself?"

"You blocked my magic, remember?" Murtagh said warily, shifting slightly to keep them both in his view. "Who's Jormundur?"

"Dark magic," Eragon said, turning to Arya and ignoring Murtagh entirely. "Practiced only by a select few."

"I saw no hint of ruby fire," Arya replied, her voice level. "And the _skolir-dehren_ is inactive, which proves that he was not possessed."

Murtagh paused, studying them both—it was as if he were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle, the keystone that would make everything else fall into place. _Thorn?_ he asked, hoping that the dragon could supply it.

_They're angry, Murtagh_, came the uneasy reply. _I can hear them muttering from here._

_Enough with the riddles; tell me what's going on!_ Murtagh said, thoroughly fed up.

_Orrin's dead,_ Thorn said simply.

Murtagh's mind was a complete blank for a moment as he struggled to place who Orrin _was_—for a moment, he was afraid that he'd completely lost his memory again, but no—he'd just never cared very much for the man. _The king?_ he said at last. _Orrin? He's a king of Surda, isn't he?_

_No_, Thorn said, his voice laden with patient sarcasm. _He's _the_ king of Surda. And he's dead, and they're saying that Galbatorix did it, Murtagh. _

A chill ran down Murtagh's spine. _Galbatorix? But how—?_

_I don't know; Saphira's not very forthcoming with the details. But stay sharp, Murtagh. You humans never have much logic at the best of times, but when you're angry, it's almost nonexistent._

Murtagh swallowed hard, his eyes focusing on Eragon. Eragon's eyes were distracted in the way that his own had been only a few seconds ago, and Murtagh was willing to bet that he was talking to Saphira. "Arya?" Murtagh said quietly, watching Eragon carefully.

"Yes?"

"What happened precisely?"

Arya hesitated, studying him critically. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if trying to decide just how much to tell him. Beside them, Eragon cleared his throat, his eyes snapping back into focus. "Murtagh?" he said.

Murtagh looked at him, feeling suddenly uneasy. He could not touch minds, but he knew enough of human character, even through his faded memories. And they would be angry—_very_ angry. And a scapegoat was always needed...

"I think it would be best if you stayed here for the time being," Eragon said quietly. "I will put wards on your door to allow only Arya and me inside. Stay here and wait."

Murtagh opened his mouth to protest, and slowly closed it again. Eragon was right, for once—without his magic to defend himself, solitude would be his best defense against an angry mob. "And Thorn?" he said, his voice just as quiet.

"We will make other arrangements for Thorn," Arya said, exchanging a glance with Eragon. Your mental link with him will still be open, so you can be assured of each other's safety. But otherwise, do as Eragon says—stay, and wait. All other matters can wait as well."

"Such as the ability to acquire power from the dead?" Murtagh said before he could help himself, the words slipping out like a taunt. "Such as the true reason why I'm here?"

Arya looked at him, her eyes giving nothing away as she answered calmly, "Yes. Such as that."

Murtagh smiled at the fathomless look in her eyes and gave her a short, curt nod in acknowledgment of a proper opponent. That particular argument wasn't over, only postponed.

Eragon opened the door with a spell and they left, leaving Murtagh alone.

XXXXX

**Cookies to anyone who can understand the chapter title, lol. xDD Goshness, I know this was short, but you will not believe how many rewrites I put this thing through. So yeah, whatever. –sighs- Longer one next time, I s'pose. (Next time involves our favorite OCs EVA, Orca & Anil & Inari! Will they manage to make it through another chapter without getting killed off by a homicidal fangirl?? Tune in next week and find out! –dun dun dun!-)**

**Yeahhh…so, obviously, Mattes had to snuff it. And Orrin died just so I can say I killed off a CANON character for once, yee-hah. And who was controlling Jormundur? Weellll…let's just say that this AU takes in the fact that Eragon/Saphira fulfilled one of the 'seven promises' that they were supposed to do. Yeah. Ring any bells? I'll explain it later if it doesn't…you know, someday.**

**Uh huh. And just because I'm in a rather dry and cynical mood, here's another random thought: possession is rather deus ex machina-y, don't you think? But hey, if CP could do it to Murtagh...-shrugs-**

**And yesss, I know that Brisingr's out, and yessss, I am continuing this. I think. I dunno. With my attention span, nothing's ever set in stone. Anyway. Review?**

**Mistress-of-Misery**: Holy shizzle, I was writing this chap and all of a sudden, I was thinking, Murtagh/Arya pairing? Eh? I dunno; if I recall, there was a lovely piece by alsdssg already concerning the pairing (Black on White, I think), but it would be interesting to work out. You know, if I don't end up killing Arya. Yeah. Gosh, I am snuffing a whole lot of characters lately.

**Korn12121**: You are so weird. Good for you, man.

**Arion Naomi**: Canst though…bah humbug, I was never good at, you know, God-style proclamations anyway, lol. And I hope I spelled that word right. I have spellcheck turned off so there's no cute little red squiggly to warn me. Wow. This is random. xDD

**andrewTHATSme**: I pronounce it a-rI-ya, actually, and CP's little pronunciation guide be damned if I'm wrong. While we're on that subject, how do you pronounce Jormundur? I mean, Spanish style Hor-mun-dur or Jor-mun-dur? Does Alagaesia even speak Spanish? Food for thought.

**Canadian-Girl14**: -kills Orrin dutifully- Yeaaaah…actually, that's kind of depressing, lol, the way I'm just knocking characters off left and right these days. I seem to be in a rather philosophical mood right now. Hrrrm. XDD I think Orrin's character got a bit of improvement in _Brisingr_—you know, when he chopped off Zombie Guy's head and all.


End file.
